14
Debtors
In the church parking lot, Shin had watched his friend’s face turn sickly white. He could not forget the surprised looks of Bo and Mido, whom he had known since they were born.
Shin had tried to dissuade Danbi from this absurd lunch plan; he knew Helen and John would never accept the invitation.
Yet no matter what Shin said about a man he had known for almost three decades, Danbi was certain that John would be civil, that he might even be open to a reconciliation. She had to try, she’d said.
In a way, Danbi was correct, because Helen and John had not made a scene.
They did not raise their voices; if anything, John became more passive, retreating into the privacy of his car.
Shin knew that look, that bloodless expression, belonging to a man who was fighting with all his might to pull his punches, the strain of drawing down his own power.
Shin was afraid.
He should not have left his marriage and three sons.
It had begun with flirtation with an intoxicating young woman, then a romantic affair. He’d had those before, almost too many to count. Mary had overlooked them. She had not maligned him to their sons, who did not know about Danbi until Mary had no choice but to tell them.
Shin had done everything he could to extricate himself from this woman, but she would not let him go.
He had used his best friend, hoping that wise John could clean up this mess.
The wish to be free from Danbi was inevitable because like with all affairs, eventually fun transformed into the grim reality of rights and responsibilities.
Shin had sworn vows to his wife and made promises to his girlfriend, and Danbi did not see the difference between the words spoken, the agreements made, or the identities of the parties.
Now there was a baby with Danbi, an innocent.
Danbi’s wishes and fears could not easily be dismissed. For her, Shin had sacrificed his wife, his sons, and his closest friend.
After church, when Shin and Danbi returned to their house, the baby was asleep. The housekeeper had put her down for a nap and was cooking in the kitchen. Danbi went to speak with her.
In the bedroom, Shin removed his necktie and hung up his suit, changing into khakis and a white golf shirt.
At fifty-three, he had kept himself trim and attractive.
He still had a thick head of hair, which Danbi liked.
Since he was a boy, he’d been vain, and now his enduring good looks almost embarrassed him.
In high school, the popular girls used to call him the lodestone and themselves its mere metal shavings.
By midlife, he had squandered his pull and felt like a cheap horseshoe magnet stuck to a factory anvil, affixed to a mass with a hold far greater than he could ever manage to be free of.
Shin sat down on the love seat. From his mind, he could not dislodge John’s forlorn expression—the shame, repulsion, and despair.
Danbi had pored over the Gospel Presbyterian church members’ guide to find clients for their insurance agency.
While creating spreadsheets for potential client outreach, she had learned that John and his family had recently become members.
There were other large churches in Orange County, but Danbi wanted to settle at this one because her American-born cousin Frank Lim and his pretty Korean wife, Bina, who owned a large insurance agency, were elders there.
“You know John Koh and Helen Cho?” Bina had once asked Danbi.
“They arrived not too long ago, but they’re a well-regarded family.
Helen’s sister, Sonya Cho, is an elder at that big church in Gangnam and the daughter-in-law of the Mun real estate family.
I heard John and Helen lost everything during the IMF, but everyone at church likes them.
The wife has very good taste and works at Mrs. Chung’s. ”
Danbi listened to her wealthy cousin’s wife prattle on about John and Helen, and nothing Shin could say reassured her that they would not gossip about them. She needed to make things right with John and Helen if she was to do well here.
It was possible to repair this relationship, Danbi told Shin. She was even willing to apologize.
They could not wed because he was not yet divorced; however, Danbi had told everyone they were married.
She wore a large emerald-cut diamond ring, which Bina had admired, and addressed Shin as her husband.
Danbi wanted to make sure that Helen and John never told anyone about Mary or Shin’s three sons.
Danbi entered the room, and Shin looked up without saying a word.
“Are you upset with me?” she asked, closing the door behind her. She unbuttoned her jacket, then stripped off her blouse, dropping it to the ground. She pulled down the shade behind him and removed her brassiere and panties.
Shin closed his eyes. “Why did you have to do that to them? I don’t understand you.”
“I’m not making trouble. I’m trying to fix things. For us. Our family.”
She climbed onto his lap and pressed her breast on his mouth.
Shin pulled back. He picked her up in his arms and laid her on the bed.
“Get dressed.”
Danbi turned over.
“You can punish me,” she said, glancing at him like she was frightened. “Maybe that’s what I need. Punishment.”
Shin returned to the love seat and sat down, his hands cradling his heavy head. This was what they did.
She shaped the world’s needs and values through the machinery of her reasoning, and when he disagreed, she offered her body in ways that were shocking, even to him.
For her, there were no taboos. In the beginning, he’d been dazzled by her seeming innocence. But she was not a virgin as she had first implied, then later neither affirmed nor denied. There was little she hadn’t done, and there was nothing she wouldn’t do.
A man who needed to have sex often, Shin found her exhilarating, as if he’d discovered some sort of fountain of youth in her body; then, later, sex with her became a compulsion.
Many times he’d gone to room salons and slept with other girls, to check if he could forget her and replace her with some nameless body, but he found that he couldn’t. No one was like her. Before Danbi, he would have said a lay is a lay. Pussy was fungible.
It was not. Even this request for punishment. He was furious, yet he felt aroused. His dick refused to listen to his brain’s command: Cast her out.
Danbi sat up and rose from the bed to approach him. Getting on her knees, she removed his pants, then turned around to slap her own bottom hard, then bent over. She slapped herself again and again until she reddened. Shin took her hands in his to make her stop. He obeyed.
When it was over, Danbi showered, then returned wearing a white gauze sundress, unrecognizable as the woman who’d been hitting herself less than an hour before.
Shin was still seated, half dressed, neither understanding nor accepting how he had done this again.
What he felt was hatred for his own weakness, and the hatred seeped further and further into him.
For a long time, he’d thought it was a kind of self-loathing for his lack of discipline, and now this shame felt as fierce as violence.
He wanted to hurt her, but he was afraid, too.
“I’m going to check on the baby. She’ll be ready for her bottle,” she said, approaching him.
Like a gentle mother, Danbi gathered his head in her cool hands and smoothed his hair. She turned and went to the door. For a moment, she stood still.
“We have to stay at Gospel Presbyterian, and your friend is not leaving, either. This church is important for our business, and our little family will be respected here.
“I forgave you and that man for trying to get me fired. Your friend is supposed to forgive me if he believes that he was forgiven by God. Isn’t that how this religion works?”
There was nothing Shin could say.
All weekend, Lion and Yun discussed the possibility of taking Ginny into their home.
Everything would change, Lion argued, and Yun couldn’t disagree, but she also thought it made sense since there was more than enough room in their new house.
They had no plans to have children anytime soon, and Ginny had nowhere to go.
Finally, as she’d known he would, Lion agreed with Yun, and at nine o’clock on Sunday night, they phoned Ginny’s parents in Busan.
“Your daughter is a wonderful student, and we’re happy she attends our hagwon,” Yun said.
Ginny’s mother started to cry. “We owe you money, and as soon as we find work, I promise to send it. I promise you. I promise.”
Yun tried to interrupt, but Ginny’s mother continued.
“It’s just that if she comes back here, we don’t know how she can return. The school in my mother-in-law’s neighborhood is not good. Ginny has always been such a bright child, and Oxford Academy is supposed to be great—”
“There’s been a misunderstanding,” Yun broke in. “My husband and I are not calling about money. In fact, we’re proposing a solution. The guardian needs to rent her room, so we could let her stay here. At our house. We don’t have any children, and we have a bedroom for her.”
Ginny’s mother grew quiet. She didn’t understand why these hagwon owners would do this for a stranger.
“There wouldn’t be a fee. She can stay as long as she needs until you want her to come home. We want to support good students,” Yun said.
“I’ve been praying for a miracle.” The mother burst into tears again and sobbed.
Lion frowned. Although he was so religious that as a little boy he had wanted to be a pastor, he disliked references to miracles, angels, and “the Lord’s will” even more than the flintiest of atheists.
“Ginny is a delight,” he said. “Her teacher—”
“Miss Mido,” the mother said. “My daughter mentions her all the time. Was this Miss Mido’s idea?”
“Yes, it was Miss Mido’s idea. She would have taken Ginny into her house, but she doesn’t have the room.”