Reunion
By Kassandra Alvarado
Copyright 2015
Cover Art Designed by Author
***
A cry of frustration left the young woman’s lips. The bus left her off a street corner teeming with life. Few people walking in the sea of suit jackets, pants, skirts and briefcases noticed her plight. She was just another face in the crowd, another person buffeted around by the shoulders and steps of other more fortunate people who knew where their destination lay.
“Excuse me,” she tried, stopping a round-faced woman. The woman looked at her strangely; seemingly startled at the words had come from her mouth. Ji-Won pulled the much worn letter from her jacket pocket, “could you take a look at this - ” scarcely had she begun the sentence when the woman brushed past her rudely, knocking the paper from her hand. “Aah!” she scrambled to snatch it; bowing quickly at the woman’s retreating back. “Shitsurei shimashita!” She’d forgotten herself in her haste and spoken her father’s language.
Helplessly, she watched the scrap of paper lift and flutter in the breeze, disappearing between the gaps of bodies surging on the crowded sidewalk. Ji-Won felt herself pulled forward, caught up in the motion of humanity in Tokyo’s Metropolitan area.
The paper fluttered against dark slacks.
She snatched it up, her fingers curling tightly around the waif thin paper.
“Are you lost?”
She looked up into the dark brown eyes of a tall young man.
“Aah...yes.”
He bought her a cup of tea at a nearby teahouse. Ji-Won was glad to leave the cold air, her nose and ears felt numb and she briskly rubbed her fingers together while a pretty waitress brought their order. She was wary of the intentions of a stranger; her appa had raised her well, yet when she looked into his calm gaze, she read nothing but reflected warmth.
She clasped her hands, tilting her face upward to Heaven, silently praying. Perhaps her luck had finally changed. “What brings you to Tokyo? Vacation? Business?” He asked, waiting until she had finished. “You’re from Seoul, correct?”
“Y-Yes,” she answered hesitantly. “My brother was supposed to meet me two days ago. We'd only communicated through email...,” shyly she tucked her loose strands of hair behind her ears, familiar pain rising in her throat. “He wanted it to be a surprise when we finally met face to face.”
“What happened?” The man asked concernedly.
“He never showed up.” Ji-Won murmured, trying to remain casual about it. “I waited and waited...but I guess,” she forced a tiny, bitter smile. “He decided not to come.”
“Perhaps he was waylaid or something came up.”
She nodded slightly, letting her hand slide down to the remaining warmth of her tea cup. “I thought so too, but I tried calling his cell and the line had been disconnected. He’s my...half-brother. To tell the truth, I didn’t even know I had...,” a slight pause. “Family.” It was still fresh in her mind the day she had sat down with her closest friend, Ae-Cha, relating the story that had unraveled from the letters.
“My father was a businessman for several decades. His company had dealings with a Japanese communications corporation. He traveled back and forth, leaving me with his mother in Busan. I was always told I had no other family than them. Last year, he suffered a mild heart attack and was forced to stay in the hospital. He told me to get things in order at our house in case of his passing...,” Ji-Won sighed, reliving the moment of finding the carefully kept letters bound with string in the strong box in her father’s study.
Anguish....joy....and more than a fair amount of bitterness. The emotions overpowered her and she couldn’t speak for a few moments. Ji-Won had only to glance up and meet the stranger’s eyes, strength seemed to flow into her. Collecting herself, she went on.
“It was then, that I discovered correspondence between my appa and a woman spanning the length of my childhood years.” Her eyes closed, the scent of faint plum blossoms came strongly to mind. The letters written in a delicate female hand were fragranced with Hakubaiko. Soon after the discovery, she had gone out and purchased a precious bottle of plum perfume, tucking it away in her suitcase.
“That woman was my mother.”
Father had only pretended that my mother had died when I was young.
She remembered all too well confronting him in the hospital, spilling the letters across his white blankets. His denials mixed with her paternal grandmother’s protests.
“Appa tried to say she abandoned me.”
“But, that wasn’t true.”
Ji-Won sipped at the cold green tea, bitter like her thoughts. “No.” She agreed softly, “it was far from the truth.” She’d found it hard to believe in the beginning how her dear appa had lied, how he’d concealed the family she’d had across the East Sea. With difficulty, she’d poured over the letters, dictionaries at hand. She’d read of the birth of her half-brother, of the house they’d moved into, different things. Things that only people with a deep connection shared.
But, it was the pictures that her appa had refused to send, that had stopped the letters.
He had stopped them.
“With a friend’s help, I was able to trace the address on the last letter. They’d moved again into the suburbs. My father tried to forbid me from contacting them. But, by then, my mind was made up.”
The waitress quietly returned with fresh coffee from a signal by the stranger.
Grateful, Ji-Won accepted the black brew with a little sugar. She'd always preferred coffee to tea.
“I thought they’d want to meet me.” The circle of dark liquid reflected her wan face and the fading roots of dark brown from black. “When they responded to my letter, I thought...I thought I’d...,” she couldn’t go on. It was impossible to put into words, to bring herself to admit her loneliness over the years, especially to a stranger. Ji-Won felt herself on the edge of crying and hastily blotted her face.
“Sorry,” she reached out to touch his sleeve, her expression apologetic. “I didn’t mean to burden you like that. Gomennasai!”
“Betsu ni,” he responded gently, patting her folded fingers. His touch was uncommonly cold. Without realizing it, Ji-Won pulled away instinctively. There was little change in his expression, yet she could sense slight withdrawal.
“What’re you going to do now?”
She hesitated on giving out definite plans, hazy though they were in the back of her mind. “Maybe get a feel for the city,” she added quickly, so he wouldn’t think she was alone. “I’ve a few friends that I’m going to meet up with.” She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Make a vacation out of it.” Privately, she thought of the time she’d taken off from work and couldn’t suppress the shadow of disappointment clenching her gut.
They talked a little more of Korea’s improving education system, political relations between President Park and Prime Minister Abe. Ji-Won couldn’t define the feeling she received during the conversation. The impressions were familiar; the words seemed like those she’d heard before. When all was said and done, she found evening had quite drawn on and the windows reflected a rainy Tokyo night.
“Would you like a companion on your return to your hotel?”
“No, thanks. I’ll be fine,” Ji-Won began reaching for her wallet, but the stranger had drawn several thousand yen. “Oh! But, I couldn’t -”
“It's nothing.” He insisted, leaving the money with the receipt slip. Feeling more than a little flustered, Ji-Won excused herself to the restroom. The room had two stalls and generic blue tile. The mirrors were wavy pieces of glass reflecting her image. She splashed water over her hands, the jet coming in brief spurts, spattered the white porcelain bowl.
A few minutes pass
ed, she studied the face she’d always known and thought of as firmly han-in. Was there a difference? Over the last few months her beliefs had changed. Nihonjin too. It was somewhere there, inside. Nodding to herself, she exhaled softly. Once more. She’d try one more time to find them. Satisfied with her decision, she turned the faucet off, grabbed a few coarse paper towels from the rack, drying her cold hands and headed back into the teahouse.
The stranger had disappeared.
She stopped a passing waitress, her brow puckering. “Where is the man I was with? Did he leave?”
The waitress gazed at her blankly, brightening, “ah, yes! Here’s your change, Miss.”
Unconsciously, Ji-Won’s fingers curled over the crumpled yen pulled from the waitress’s apron pocket. The woman flashed a quick smile; she had no way of knowing whether or not the change was correct. She hated feeling beholden even though