Daughters of the Dragon: A Comfort Woman's Story (23 page)

F
ORTY

Eight years later

I
handed out
yellow pamphlets in front of the new history department building at Seoul National University. There was a spring breeze blowing through campus and I had to hold the pamphlets tight to my chest so they wouldn’t blow away. The
akebia
were in bloom and the air was heavy with their chocolate smell. All around me, students carrying books braced themselves against the breeze as they rushed to their classes. I pushed pamphlets at them as they walked by. Every so often, a student reached out and took one. It was my third day at the university and I had only a small stack of pamphlets left.

I’d had the four-page pamphlets printed in a shop not far from my apartment. When the shop owner read it, he refused to do the job. I agreed not to tell anyone where I had them printed and gave him one hundred extra won. He quickly printed them and gave them to me in a plain paper sack.

I was pleased with what I had written. The headline read, “Japanese Sex Slaves. We Were Not Volunteers.” The pamphlet explained how the Japanese military had forced me and thousands of others to be comfort women. It proposed that the Korean government force Tokyo to acknowledge their war crimes against Korean women and make reparations. So far, however, no one had responded to my pamphlets.

I pushed a pamphlet at a female student with short black hair. I wanted to scold her when she stuffed it in her bag without reading it. I watched her as she walked to her class. She looked bright, happy and confident. Of course she did. She had her entire life before her. Her prospects in the modern Republic of Korea were good.

As she disappeared inside the history building, I thought about how different my own life was at her age. I was smart and had an exceptional gift for languages. I would have thrived at a great university like this. Perhaps I could have become an attorney, a negotiator or a diplomat. But fate had other plans for me.

And fate had other plans for my daughter Soo-bo, too. Without a father to get a family registration, Soo-bo had to quit her studies after Chul-sun broke off our engagement. And without an education, Soo-bo, thin and plain, had to work menial jobs to supplement my government welfare check. Even with her income, we barely got by.

The breeze kicked up and I held the pamphlets tight. A middle-aged man in a suit trotted toward me down the concrete stairs of the history building. He held one of my pamphlets in his hand. He asked me what I was doing.

“I am telling the truth,” I answered.

The man’s hair was thick and gray and he wore scholarly glasses. “I don’t want to get you into trouble,” he said, “so I’m asking you to leave.”

“Why?” I asked. “This is the perfect place to hand out my pamphlets. It talks about an important part of Korea’s history. These students should know. All Koreans should know.”

The man glared at me. “Do not tell me what these students should know. I am the head of the history department here.”

I felt my jaw tighten. “You are?” I said. “Then certainly you understand how important it is to expose what the Japanese did to me and thousands of other Korean girls. It is your history too, professor.”

“What is or is not our history is what historians like me say it is,” the professor said, jabbing a finger at me. “And I say it did not happen.”

“But it did happen,” I said. “It happened to me and my sister. Why do you deny it?”

The professor looked around. “Because we are a modern nation now. If the rest of the world doesn’t respect us, we will never become a world power. So I insist that you take your pamphlets and leave or I will have to call the police.”

“I will not,” I said. “I won’t leave and I will not stop. I refuse to be a proper Korean and suffer in silence for the rest of my life. As a nation, we’re a little too good at being the victim, Professor. Korea will never be great until we stop letting others use us. And it begins with making those who raped us admit what they did.”

The professor sighed. “Very well,” he said. “I warned you.” He turned and trotted back up the stairs.

I watched as the head of the history department of Korea’s most prestigious university disappeared inside the building and my blood boiled. Honor? To my fellow Koreans, honor was more important than the truth. But we would never have honor if we based it on a lie. And anyway, what did I do that was so dishonorable? Read the pamphlet. We were not volunteers!

I turned to look for more students to hand my pamphlet to. Standing several steps away was an attractive, middle-aged woman. She looked both ways and then came to me. Our eyes met for a second and she handed me one-hundred won. Then, she quickly walked away.

I went after her. “Wait!” I said, holding the money out. “Why are you giving me this?”

The woman quickened her pace. I ran and caught up to her. “Stop a minute,” I pleaded. “Please. I just want to talk to you.”

I placed a hand on the woman’s arm. She shrugged it away. “Leave me alone,” she said. “I gave you the money, that’s all I can do.”

I kept pace for a few steps and then I stopped. The breeze let up for a moment and the air was still. And then I said loud enough for the woman to hear, “They told me I was going to work in a boot factory. How did they take you?”

The woman stopped with her back to me. She stood for several seconds, and then dropped her head. She turned and looked at me and said, “They came for me in the middle of the night. My grandfather tried to stop them but they hit him with their rifles and knocked him unconscious. They sent me to the Philippines where they raped me for three years. I was only fifteen years old.”

I went to the woman and put a hand on her arm. “I hear there are thousands of us,” I said. “Maybe hundreds of thousands.”

“Yes,” the woman said looking down. “I have heard the same thing.”

“If we work together, we can make the Japanese admit what they did.”

The woman shook her head. “I have a husband,” she said simply. Then she turned and walked away.

I clenched my teeth and marched to my spot in front of the history building. I thrust my yellow pamphlets at students. A male student looked at me disapprovingly. I pushed a pamphlet at him. “You have to know about this,” I said angrily. “If you don’t, it could happen to your wife or daughter.” The student walked away shaking his head.

A female student came by and looked at me questioningly. “Korea will never be great until we admit this,” I said to her. “Take this and read it.” She took a pamphlet. She read the headline on the front. She thumbed through the pages.

“I’ve heard rumors about this. Did it really happen?”

“Yes,” I said. “It happened to me.”

“Why don’t they want us to know about it?” the young woman asked.

Before I could launch into a lecture about truth and honor, a man shouted at me from the stairs of the history building. “You there with the pamphlets,” he said, “stop what you’re doing.” Two policemen ran down the stairs to me. The young woman shoved the pamphlet back into my hand and hurried away.

The policemen came up to me and took my pamphlets. “What are you doing?” I protested. “I’m not doing anything illegal.”

They took me by the arm and led me toward the street. “Someone wants to talk to you,” one said.

As we walked past a trashcan, they threw away my pamphlets and I could see there were already dozens of my yellow pamphlets inside.

*

I sat in a small, windowless room in the central government building. Across from me was an average-looking man who introduced himself as Mr. Cho, an agent for the national police in the Department of National Security. He told me I was not to hand out my pamphlets anymore. “In fact,” he said, “you are not to go to the university ever again. Am I clear?”

I pushed myself to the edge of my chair. “I am only telling the truth about what happened to me.”

Mr. Cho tapped on the table and said, “Ms. Hong, you have an interesting record. It seems you’ve had a dishonorable past.

“I have not done anything dishonorable, sir. That is what I’m trying to say.”

“I see. And how does your family feel about what you’re doing?”

“My family?”

“Our records show that you have a sister living in the North,” said Mr. Cho. “She is probably a Communist, too. Have you been in contact with her?”

“I have not seen my sister for twenty-seven years. She might not even be alive.”

“And then there is your daughter, Soo-bo.”

I hesitated for a second. “What about her?”

“According to our records, she was born five months after you escaped to South Korea. That means her father must be your lover in the north, Pak Jin-mo. She is the daughter of a well-known communist.”

“Leave Soo-bo out of this,” I said quickly.

Mr. Cho nodded. “We will gladly do that. All you need to do is stop stirring up controversy. If you do, no one needs to know who your daughter’s father was.”

I glared at Mr. Cho, and then I looked at my hands. Poor Soo-bo had suffered all her life. She didn’t have a father and she was the daughter of a comfort woman. She was an outcast and she lived in poverty. She had suffered enough. I nodded my agreement.

“Good,” Mr. Cho said. “And now Ms. Hong, you may go.”

F
ORTY-ONE

Twelve years later

I
should have
found a husband for Soo-bo. I tried, but she was so sickly and I was so poor that no one—certainly no one worthy of my dear Soo-bo—would have her. So when Soo-bo got pregnant by a man she met near where she worked, it was my fault. I should have met the man, but I never did. Soo-bo never talked about him. And she never saw him again after she became pregnant.

When we visited the hospital, the doctors recommended Soo-bo have an abortion. Her heart was weak, they had said, and they warned that a difficult delivery might kill her.

I was afraid that Soo-bo was considering having the abortion so I decided to take her to Gyeongbok Palace. I had to dig to the bottom of my satchel for the won I had been saving for food until my government check arrived. I counted it out. There was just enough for cab fare. Of course, the bus would cost far less. But it would require two transfers and take over an hour each way, and that would be too much for Soo-bo.

It was a clear spring day when the cab dropped us off at the Gwanghwamun Gate. Behind its drab concrete entranced was the massive Japanese Governor General building that the Japanese built during their occupation. Its towering brass dome and massive stone walls obscured the palace behind it.

We walked around the unsightly building into the palace courtyard. There, trees and grass were green and flowers were in bloom. Before us were several buildings, some old, and a few under construction. The buildings’ tiled roofs curved gracefully upward, like the wings of giant gray herons rising into the sky. The walkways and courtyards were paved with stones.

“Why did you bring me here,
Ummah
?” Soo-bo asked as we walked.

“I wanted you to see this place,” I answered. “It was the home of the Chosŏn dynasty for five hundred years.”

“I know. It is where Empress Myeongseong was murdered by the Japanese.”

“On October 8th, 1895,” I said. “Tell me if you get tired.”

“I’m okay for now.”

We slowly strolled past a pavilion with a long porch. Here and there, tourists took snapshots of each other or gazed in awe at the colorful buildings.

Finally, I said, “I want to talk to you about something.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“You cannot have an abortion.”

“But the doctor said I could die if I have the baby.”

I looked at my feet. “Yes, I know.”

I pointed at the palace grounds. “See this place? One hundred years ago, there were many more buildings here. Hundreds more. I have seen pictures and a map of what used to be here. Beautiful, majestic buildings for the Emperor and Empress and the royal family. They said there was no other place like it in all of Korea.”

“Hundreds of buildings?” Soo-bo exclaimed. “I can’t imagine. What happened to them?”

“The Japanese destroyed all but ten during their occupation. There is talk of rebuilding every one. They also want to tear down the Japanese Governor General building and rebuild the Gwanghwamun gate. I hope they do.”

“What does this have to do with me having an abortion?”

I looked up at Mount Bukhansan while we walked. “Do you remember the comb with the two-headed dragon?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you remember the story I told you about it?”

“Yes. The one about the rich yangban who sent her daughter away and gave her the comb.”

I took Soo-bo’s arm. “Come. I want to show you something.”

We walked to a series of connected buildings dominated by a tall tower with five pagoda roofs, one on top of the other in layers like the branches of a great pine tree. We entered a building. Inside was the National Museum of Korea. Glass cases filled with artifacts lined the corridors and folk art hung on the walls. Each had a plaque describing its history.

“I come here on Tuesdays,” I said. “It’s free and I can spend as much time as I want. There are things in here that remind me of my childhood.”

I led Soo-bo down a corridor filled with exhibits of Korean treasures and armament. We stopped at a glass case containing a sword with detailed etchings and a gold rim along the scabbard. “See this sword?” I asked. “Look at the etchings.”

Soo-bo examined the scabbard. “It has the same dragon as your comb!”

“That is right. Read the plaque. Read it aloud.”

Soo-bo leaned in and read, “In 1967, this sword was found hidden in the walls of a home once owned by a wealthy merchant. Historians believe the two-headed dragon with one head facing east and one facing west, protects Korea and those who served our country. Some believed Empress Myeongseong created the symbol of the two-headed dragon, although there is no evidence she did. During their occupation of Korea, the Japanese destroyed all items they could find bearing the two-headed dragon. This sword is the only known surviving artifact.”

Soo-bo stepped back. “What does it mean,
Ummah
?”

“Before you were born, your father saw me using my comb. He told me what the dragon stood for. I didn’t know if it was true, but I kept the comb for years. When I discovered this sword, I knew that what he said was true.”

I pointed at the sword. “Look at one more thing. How many toes does the dragon have?”

Soo-bo pressed against the case. “Four. It has four toes.”

“Correct.” I said. “Come. You look tired. Let’s find a place to rest.”

We went outside to the courtyard and sat on the steps of the tall building with five roofs. We looked south over Seoul and the towering new office buildings and apartments. A lazy haze hung over the city. People strolled across the grounds in front of us.

I let a few people pass. I reached inside the pocket of my dress and took out a package. I loosened the twine and unfolded the brown cloth. Inside was the comb with the two-headed dragon.

“You still have it!” Soo-bo whispered. “I thought you sold it years ago.”

“The story about the yangban from Seoul,” I said, “I didn’t make it up. My mother gave this comb to my sister and me. She got it from her grandmother and her grandmother got it from her mother. My mother’s great grandmother, your third great grandmother, was the one who had the comb made.”

“Who was she?”

“Look at the dragon,” I said. “How many toes does it have?”

Soo-bo examined the comb. “Five,” she said.

“That is right,” I said. “A five-toed dragon.” I faced Soo-bo. “I didn’t know what it meant until one day I asked a docent why the dragon on the sword had four toes. She told me that most dragons on artifacts have only three. They knew the merchant who owned the sword was a very important man because the dragon had four toes. I asked her, ‘What if a dragon had five toes?’ She said that dragons with five toes were only used for items belonging to the Emperor and Empress.”

Soo-bo cocked her head. “Does that mean…?”

“Yes, Soo-bo. The comb is proof that Empress Myeongseong created the two-headed dragon and that we are her descendents. Through this comb, she has given us a responsibility to serve Korea.”

Soo-bo took a few minutes to take in what she had just learned. Then she asked, “But how can I serve Korea,
Ummah
?”

I took my daughter’s hand. “Soo-bo, you are my joy. You are the only thing that has given me lasting happiness since I was a young girl. I love you and it would break my heart if I ever lost you. But we are royalty my daughter, and our first duty is to our people. I think perhaps you were meant to have this baby. The dragon will protect you.”

I folded the cloth around the comb and gave it to Soo-bo.

She took it and stared at the package. “Do you really believe in the dragon,
Ummah
? Do you believe it will protect me?”

Looking back on my life, I saw that I had survived even the most dangerous situations while others had perished. Perhaps the dragon had protected me after all, like Soo-hee and Jin-mo had said it would. I had to believe it would protect Soo-bo, too. “Yes I do,” I said.

Soo-bo nodded. “Then I will have the baby,” she said.

We sat for a long time without talking. Eventually, I stood and extended a hand to Soo-bo to lead her home so she could rest. We walked arm in arm under the Gwanghwamun Gate, back into the great city of Seoul.