Sublimation(8)

“Yep,” Minsoo says, looking uncomfortable. “Look, you should talk to her about it, not me. I probably shouldn’t have told you about it if she didn’t tell you.”

“No, you should have told me sooner! That’s so fucked up. Who asks that sort of thing?”

“Well, Harabeoji did.”

You know your grandfather was bitterly opposed to your mother moving to America. You know he and your mother had a blowup fight two nights before you moved, screaming at each other while one of your older cousins hustled you and Minsoo out of the living room. You know your grandfather drove you and your mother to the airport anyway, but didn’t speak except to tell you to be good for your mom, Soyoung-ah.

You know your mom always handed you the phone, rather than talk to your grandfather.

Minsoo taps ash, stubs the cigarette against the ashtray. He offers you another cigarette and you shake your head. You’re trying not to pick up old bad habits. One cigarette is stress. Two is a relapse. You had picked up smoking when you wanted to seem cool in college, and it had lasted all of two semesters before your mother had found out.

Minsoo doesn’t take another cigarette for himself, either. He sways from side to side, as if he’s contemplating walking back inside. You glance back. Through the clear glass windows of the restaurant, it’s easy to spot Soyoung and her fiancé. Her head is tilted toward his. They look like they’re laughing about something.

“How long are you staying?” Minsoo asks.

“Just a few days,” you say, looking back out at the street. It’s a warm night, and there’re lots of pedestrians. Couples and groups of students, businessmen, moms and children. Minsoo taps his hand against his pocket like he wants another cigarette. He looks down at the floor.

“One second,” he says. He hands you the box of cigarettes and heads around the building. You crane your neck to watch him, bemused. He disappears into the gravel parking lot. You give in, taking out a second cigarette, and you realize you don’t have a lighter. You just stand there with a single unlit cigarette, thinking about that one John Green book that everyone was obsessed with when you were in college, and then Minsoo is striding back, holding a big manila envelope.

He thrusts it forward.

“Take it,” he says. “Harabeoji left you some stuff. And he gave it to me to give to you. He said it’s in the will, and for after—just, for after, but if you’re not going to be around for when the lawyers sort all of that out, I guess I should give it to you now. I didn’t want to mail it, you know?”

You unthinkingly stuff the cigarette box and unlit cigarette in your pocket and take the envelope. It’s heavy. Half of you wants to open it right here and now. The other half of you wants to hand it back and demand that Minsoo give this to Soyoung. Let her deal with this. It’s her family.

“Did he leave Soyoung anything?” you say. “What’s the stuff?”

Minsoo shrugs.

“I don’t know. I thought it’d be rude to look. Maybe it’s just a letter for your mom or something. You know, for posterity.”

“He told Soyoung to reintegrate,” you say grimly.

“Well, yes,” Minsoo says. “But, you know. Who knows what he was thinking. He was really old, Rose, and—”

Then Minsoo’s kid, whose name you’ve already forgotten, runs out the door and into his legs, and you laugh, more out of shock than amusement, and Minsoo doesn’t finish his sentence.



* * *



The Korean Armistice Agreement was signed in 1953, creating the demilitarized zone that splits the peninsula into North and South. The Republic of Korea has the fourteenth largest nominal GDP in the world, globally consumed entertainment exports, and a remarkably high percentage of plastic surgery among its populace. The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea has nuclear weapons, a fascist dictatorship built around a cult of personality, and a thriving black market for international media. The two countries never formally ended the war. Both countries post blank-faced soldiers with mirrored sunglasses on their side of the DMZ.

Crossing a border creates an instance. Creating a border manifests the capability for instances.

For a short time during the Korean War, it was possible to cross the DMZ with the right papers. The DMZ wasn’t quite a border yet, not coalesced in the hearts and minds of the people as a “border.” So much had happened to Korea in the past decades. Japanese occupation, name changes, comfort women, the phasing out of the Korean language. The theft of thousands of cultural artifacts. Global war, local war, foreign powers playing toy soldiers with foreigners, ideologies grappling in Korea before moving to Vietnam.

Soyoung’s grandfather crossed a border-becoming-a-border. He didn’t look back at who he might be leaving behind.





SOYOUNG


You’re busy keeping Jangmi from getting ssamjang on her shirt so you don’t realize your instance has gone outside with your cousin until they’re already gone and Jangmi’s hands have been wiped with a wet towel. It’s just you, Tae, the elementary schooler, and half a grill of assorted meats now. Jangmi squirms away from you, and you let her get back to mixing all the sauces together in a little dish. Kids are crazy. You look across the restaurant, across the tables to the shadow of Minsoo and Rose against the frosted glass. It’s impossible to tell anything from their silhouettes.