6
Economy
After washing the breakfast dishes, John went to take a shower, and in the bathroom he found Helen leaning over the sink, massaging hair dye into her scalp.
She wore a beige plastic smock over one of DH’s baseball T-shirts and his blue sweatpants from middle school. Helen smoothed a wide-toothed comb over her wet hair. Drops of brown dye dribbled down her smock.
“In less than an hour, I will have darker hair again,” she said.
John looked in the bathroom mirror, their middle-aged faces reflecting back at them. The couple stood in the white-tiled rental bathroom, each wondering how old they really looked to others.
“Should I do this, too?” He picked up the box of hair dye, never having given much thought to his appearance. John touched his graying part. In April he’d turn fifty-one. It had not occurred to him that he’d be sending out résumés again.
He had time now to read the newspapers in English and Korean, closely following the IMF bailout and how the financial crisis was playing out back home.
If it hadn’t been for the IMF’s strict austerity measures, companies wouldn’t have needed such drastic restructuring and wholesale layoffs.
Some economists argued that at times, strong medicines could kill a sick patient.
As a manager, he knew that more than ever, HRI needed to keep the Sydney office open, but no one asked him. The top guys wanted to save their jobs, and it was cheaper to cut those who couldn’t complain.
Every night, John and Helen discussed going to California. If he couldn’t get another job here with a visa, they had to find another way. No matter what, they couldn’t afford to stay in this two-bedroom apartment on Helen’s salary.
Helen put on a shower cap and left the bathroom so John could shower.
In the kitchen, she put rice in the cooker and set the timer, then prepped the night’s dinner.
When she got home from work, she’d finish the cooking.
In thirty-five minutes, she had to rinse out the dye and catch the bus to Mrs. Silars.
Helen was grateful to have work. Her manager, Scott Cudahy, had remembered Mrs. Silars, a former client who could no longer care for herself, and with Helen’s language skills and strong references, she’d been hired right away, even though she’d never been a home health aide before.
She had been out of a job for only a week, and working an eight-hour shift as an aide paid the same as her base salary at Crawford’s.
When there were two shifts, Helen could make up for some of the lost commissions.
Mr. Silars, a retired banker, paid her in cash, and as soon as she got her envelope, Helen deposited the sum in the bank.
Mido’s second-year tuition was due in two weeks.
Helen and John’s prestigious degrees from Korea meant little to nothing in Australia. Their white-collar peers in Sydney were executives at Korean companies, or service professionals with their own offices—doctors, lawyers, accountants—who had skills neither Helen nor John possessed.
Right after John lost his position, Helen went to a real estate agent to find a cheaper apartment, but they couldn’t move until their current lease terminated in March. John’s work visa would expire in a few months.
They had $8,000 Australian in their bank account, and with it, they had to cover Mido’s tuition, expenses for DH at Yale, and their own costs.
For now, Bo was the only one who didn’t need money.
Lion—Yun’s boyfriend—had hired him at Exodus Academy and charged him only $200 a month to live in the furnished rooms above Lion’s garage.
From his earnings as a van driver and math tutor, he was able to save for his college tuition and pay off the used Subaru he’d bought.
Helen’s new job was not easy. But she didn’t mind caring for Mrs. Silars, a Korean woman who had married a wealthy Australian banker. One of three aides who worked around the clock, Helen had the day shift, when Mrs. Silars had the most energy.
Mrs. Silars had been one of her better clients at Crawford’s before the onset of Alzheimer’s in her mid-seventies.
The former art director of a fashion magazine, she’d been a stylish, vivacious woman with short raven hair and a bright, flawless complexion, one who always kept up with the latest trends even after her retirement.
In all the years Helen had worked at Crawford’s, Mrs. Silars would buy a new handbag each season.
She wore her trademark carmine-red lipstick, one-piece silk shirtdresses in solid colors, and low-heeled shoes.
Mr. Silars bought her exquisite jewelry each year on their wedding anniversary.
Not long after her illness began, she lost all interest in her clothing, bags, and gold and diamond jewelry.
Now she spent most mornings seated in her crewelwork-covered wing chair in her bedroom, dressed in a gray zip-front tracksuit, white ankle socks, and white running sneakers. If any of the nurses tried to vary her clothing, Mrs. Silars would scream.
In complete contrast to her former self, she was no longer tidy, elegant, or trim.
If allowed, she would eat seven or eight meals a day.
None of her old clothes would ever fit her again, and since they were too small for her, her daughter Annabelle had given them away.
The other two aides, Korean migrant women, cooked, cleaned, and laundered the numerous sets of gray sweatsuits so she could wear them in rotation.
Mr. Silars was a kind man who loved his wife, and he accepted that she was more or less gone, replaced by a person who could not recognize him.
The most challenging thing for him and for Annabelle was that Mrs. Silars now spoke only in Korean, her native language, a language neither Mr. Silars nor Annabelle understood, requiring a translator for everything, especially doctor visits.
When the weather was good, Helen took Mrs. Silars to nearby Hyde Park. She liked to sit on the grass near the large fig trees and have a chicken salad sandwich and a decaffeinated coffee with cream and three sugar cubes.
That morning, when she got to Mrs. Silars’s house, Helen realized that in her rush to dry her hair and clean up the mess in the bathroom from the dye job, she’d forgotten her house keys.
She phoned Mido and arranged to have her bring the keys to Hyde Park, since later that day Mido had a tutoring job near the Harbour.
It was a sunny and clear day, not quite hot but summery. The park breezes felt gentle. Helen guided Mrs. Silars to the shaded spot near her favorite fig tree with the tall, cavernous roots, which came up from the ground like triangular screens, creating deep pockets of space between the roots.
“Hello, Tree Teacher,” Mrs. Silars whispered to the tall fig.
Helen spread a picnic blanket on the ground and unpacked the sandwich and coffee thermos.
Helen hoped that Mrs. Silars would be calm today.
The aide Helen had just relieved had reported that she didn’t have a good night.
If she was receptive, Helen would read to her.
After the book, Mrs. Silars would get three biscuits and more coffee.
“Would you like to have your lunch now?”
Mrs. Silars lay down to stare up at the fig leaves. They looked like large green paw prints.
“Are you tired?” Helen asked, and Mrs. Silars didn’t answer.
Helen scanned the park but didn’t see Mido. She unwrapped the sandwich and placed it on the paper plate, then poured coffee into the short metal mug. Mrs. Silars liked to count out the three sugar cubes, so Helen left the sugar tin by the thermos.
“Your picnic is ready,” Helen said, and Mrs. Silars sprang up like a child and reached for the sugar tin.
“One, two, three,” she counted in Korean, and dropped the cubes into her coffee.
Helen smiled and watched her eat the sandwich.
As she was finishing it, she looked up and noticed Mido approaching.
“Here’s my daughter,” Helen said.
Mrs. Silars stared at Mido, who smiled at them.
“Who’s that?” Mrs. Silars asked.
“My daughter. She’s my youngest child. Remember, I have three children,” Helen said.
“No,” Mrs. Silars said defiantly.
Mido bowed deeply to Mrs. Silars and greeted her formally in Korean.
“Get away from me,” Mrs. Silars screamed. “Get away!”
Mido looked confused.
“Should I go?” Mido asked in Korean. She looked as afraid as Mrs. Silars, who was now crouching behind Helen.
“This is my daughter, Mrs. Silars,” Helen repeated slowly in Korean.
Mido smiled again and turned to her mother, “Here are the keys. I don’t want to interrupt your work.” Mido moved back a little.
Mrs. Silars picked up the mug and threw it at Mido. The coffee splashed across her shirt, and Mido could feel the lukewarm liquid on her chest and stomach.
“Mrs. Silars, Mrs. Silars. That’s not nice,” Helen said, then turned to Mido. “You should go home and change. She’s tired and upset. I’ll call you later.”
Mrs. Silars slapped Helen’s back.
Mido was alarmed but didn’t know what to do.
“It doesn’t hurt,” Helen said. “You should go.”
Mrs. Silars crumpled into herself and began crying, and Helen did her best to console her.
“Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right,” Helen said to Mrs. Silars. “I can read to you now if you like. I’m sorry. I left my keys and my daughter brought them. Everything is okay now.”
Mrs. Silars picked up her sandwich, and Helen retrieved the book from the picnic bag. Her daughter’s figure grew smaller as she walked farther away.
Mido went to Tek’s house to change. It was easier than going back home.
“You’re here?” Mido said, seeing the lamplight in his room.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Tek said. “What happened?” He pointed to her stained white shirt.
“Coffee. I have to head back to the Harbour. I have two tutoring appointments tonight. Is there anything to eat here? I have about an hour. So sorry to bother you.”
Tek got up from his desk. “We can make eggs. I have some pasta from last night. Oh, hey, did you choose your classes for next semester?”
Mido paused on her way to the kitchen. She’d been avoiding this conversation.
“My parents are thinking of moving to California.”
“Not going back to Seoul?”
“There’s less work there. What did your mum say about the IMF thing? Any insight?”
“Yes, Professor Yoon said it’s very bad and the short-term pain will only get worse.”
“I see.”
Mido grabbed a T-shirt from her small pile of things in Tek’s closet and changed. Tek tried to embrace her, but she pulled away. “There’s no time.”
“We can make time,” he said, smiling.
“Later,” she said. “I’ll come back later. I have to eat and get to work.”
Tek took her by the hand, and they went to the kitchen. He started to pull things out from the refrigerator. Mido took a deep breath.
“Tek,” she said, “I’m going to go with them. Drop out of school for now. I’ll finish my degree in California.”
“What?” Tek put down the frying pan and turned.
“This is the right thing. It’ll be better for us in California.”
“That’s crazy. You can’t quit uni. You’re doing great here!”
“I’m paying full tuition, working nonstop, and my parents can’t afford to live here. Soon they won’t have a visa.”
“You can stay, though.”
“I have to go with them. Even if they told me to stay, I’d go.”
“What about—” Tek looked hurt.
“We’ll be fine,” she said. “They have to get settled. I’ll do what Bo’s doing.
Work, then study.” She hadn’t actually thought this through, but as she was saying it, the plan grew clearer in her mind, making sense.
No matter how hard her mother worked, they were still not getting by.
If they didn’t need to pay her tuition for uni, then there’d be more money.
“I never thought something like this could happen to me. I never thought of myself as poor. Isn’t that funny? We always had more than enough for everything, I thought.” Mido blinked hard, then opened her eyes. “But we don’t. My folks are scared. I can tell. Because they’re getting older.”
“They’re not old,” Tek insisted. “And what about your plays? Desde/Mona/Rockstar was great, Mido. Everyone said so, right?”
“I have to be realistic. Plays aren’t going to put me through school or get me a job.”
“And…?” He pointed at his chest.
Mido didn’t know what to say.
“I can’t stay here. My family needs me.”
“You can stay with me. Why can’t you live here? You take up no space.”
“No, I could never do that. Depend on someone else.”
“I’m not ‘someone else.’ ” He wondered if they should get married, but that seemed insane, even to him. She was only nineteen, and he was about to turn twenty-one. His parents would never allow it, either, and he still depended on them for everything. He’d never had a paying job.
“When you came back to Sydney, I thought it was a sign,” he said.
Mido tried to remember the first time they’d met.
She and Yun had gone to pick up her cousin Henry at Queen’s School.
Tek had run into them by chance. He was a boy who liked homemade Anzac biscuits.
When Tek heard from Henry that Mido was starting school in Sydney and not returning to Seoul, he invited her and Henry to see a movie.
Somehow he’d become her closest friend and then later her boyfriend and lover.
She would go to California with her parents.
Being a playwright seemed impossible, and now that her parents needed money, Mido could not believe she’d spent all that time caring about things that couldn’t give them security.
Even White Australians couldn’t make a living writing in iambic pentameter, how could a migrant like her do so?
If she finished her degree in primary education, she still wouldn’t make enough to take care of her family.
Mido’s white shirt with the coffee stain lay on the dining table, reminding her of Mrs. Silars, who could not control herself, and her earnest mother, who could not control their family’s minor economy.
“I better go to work,” Mido said, sad yet suddenly clear about what she had to do. “I’ll call you later.”
“You didn’t eat.”
“Later,” she said.
“Mido, everything will be okay with us.”
Wanting to believe him, she agreed.