Daughters of the Dragon: A Comfort Woman's Story (6 page)

Lieutenant Tanaka walked down the line of girls. “I have given you a valuable lesson. What do you say to your
kempei
for this lesson?”

No one answered.

“I asked a question!” Lieutenant Tanaka barked, slapping his
shinai
against his boot. “Someone answer, or you will all earn a beating.”

No one said anything and I was afraid I was going to faint like Sun-hi did. Finally, Soo-hee took a step forward and bowed low. “
Kempei
, sir,” she said in broken Japanese, “thank you for this lesson.”

Lieutenant Tanaka looked down his pointed nose at Soo-hee. “What is your name, girl?”

“Okimi Iwata, sir,” Soo-hee said with another low bow.

“You’re welcome, Okimi Iwata. Go back in line.” Soo-hee stepped back.

“Now,” Lieutenant Tanaka said, “all of you, wash and change into
yukata
s. The
geisha
s will assign you to rooms. The senior officers return from maneuvers tonight.”

As Lieutenant Tanaka headed out of the courtyard, he said over his shoulder, “Be ready for them.”

N
INE

A
fter lieutenant tanaka
left the courtyard, I gripped Soo-hee’s hand hard. I asked her what was happening to us.

“Quiet!” Private Ishida barked, untying Jin-sook from the post. “Don’t talk! If Lieutenant Tanaka hears you, you will get a beating!” I lowered my head.

“Seiko! Maori!” the private shouted. “Get the others and come help with the new girls.” The Japanese women reappeared from behind their barracks.

Sun-hi, lying on the ground, moaned and grabbed at Soo-hee’s leg. Soo-hee helped her to her feet. When Sun-hi saw Jin-sook slumped at the post, she began to sob uncontrollably. “No!” Soo-hee said in a sharp whisper. “Do not cry.” The tall girl drew in an uncertain breath and fell quiet.

Private Ishida ordered Maori to get water for Jin-sook. “She needs to go to the infirmary,” he said.  He kneeled next to the unconscious girl and untied from the post. He told the other
geisha
s to show us our rooms and where to wash. “They need
yukata
s for the officers tonight,” he said.

A Japanese woman in a dark blue
yukata
grabbed me by the arm. “I am Seiko,” she said. “Come with me.” She was at least seven years older than Soo-hee. She had shoulder-length hair, long eyelashes, and a petite nose. She walked with short, deliberate steps. She led me to a narrow door at the end of one of the barracks. “Listen to me. This is where you work. From one o’clock to five, it’s the enlisted men. They get ten minutes each. From five to seven, you have the non-commissioned officers. They get a half hour. At eight, you will go to one of the senior officers’ quarters and stay as long as he wants you. Today you’re lucky—you only have the senior officers. The troops return from maneuvers tomorrow. Then you will put in a full day’s work.”

Seiko continued. “You wash in the latrine next to the infirmary. Get a
yukata
in the room by the latrine. You must wear it when you work. We prepare food in the kitchen next to the
geisha
’s barracks. You will be assigned cleaning, cooking and laundry duty tomorrow.”

“And one more thing,” Seiko said, poking me in my chest with her finger. “Always remember you are a Korean. Do as we say or you will get a beating just like your friend over there. Now put your things in your room and follow me to the latrine.”

I went inside the room. It was dark and small and stunk like a toilet. Strips of sunlight showed through gaps between the boards in the floors and walls. The door hung loosely on leather hinges. Covering the floor was a small, thin mat. There was a chamber pot in one corner and in the other, a stool.

I placed my sack on the mat. I turned to Seiko. “What kind of work do we do here?”

Seiko scoffed at me. “You are a stupid Korean. You’re an
ianfu
—a comfort woman. You are here to service the soldiers.”

Ianfu
. I had heard the word once before, years earlier when I overheard Mother and Father talking in hushed tones about what had happened to an older girl who lived near us. I wondered what it meant so I asked Soo-hee. She told me to forget I heard the word, but I never did.

Now I was beginning to understand and my stomach turned into a knot. I had never been with a man before. I had never even imagined what it would be like. I thought about what had happened to Sun-hi in the truck only hours earlier. I could still hear her cries and see how she rolled up into a tight ball when the driver threw her back in the truck after he had used her. She hadn’t been the same since. And I knew I would not be the same, either.

I looked beyond the barracks over the brown wheat fields. The distance between the hills was much greater than in the hills outside of Sinuiju. I remembered Lieutenant Tanaka’s words; there is nowhere to run. I glanced at the post in the middle of the courtyard and a shiver of pain went through my legs.

I looked back at Seiko who glared at me. “Thank you, ma’am,” I said with a respectful bow.

*

An hour later, I had washed and even though I wasn’t hungry, I had eaten a small bowl of broth with a few mushy
azuki
beans. Seiko had given me a green
yukata
with small, white and pink flowers. She gave me white
tabi
socks and
zori
sandals. The
yukata
was too large for my slender frame and I tripped on the hem while walking back to the courtyard. Lounging on their steps, the Japanese women laughed at me without covering their mouths.

“Look at that poor little chicken,” one of them said. “She will squawk when the officers pluck her.”

The women laughed again, except for Seiko who stared at me and said, “Yes. And the officers will be here soon.”

When I entered the courtyard, the other Korean girls were standing awkwardly in front of their barracks. They were all wearing
yukata
s and there was terror in their eyes.

Soo-hee, wearing a yellow
yukata
, was on a step at the end of the barracks. I ran to her. I told her I was scared.

“We all are,” Soo-hee said. She scanned the other girls and told me to follow her.

As the Japanese women and Private Ishida looked on, Soo-hee gathered the girls around her. Then she said in a low voice, “We’re in a terrible place. We have to do what they say, or we will die. But we have each other and we must stay strong.”

“But I do not know what to do!” a younger girl cried.

Soo-hee nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Midori Sato,” she answered.

“No, no. What’s your Korean name?”

“Mee-su,” the girl said.

“I don’t know what to do either, Mee-su,” Soo-hee said. “The doctor said we would be all right if we do what they say. I think we should.”

“But I don’t know how,” Mee-su said.

Soo-hee put a hand on Mee-su’s shoulder. “You have to try. Remember what I said. Be strong.” Mee-su choked back a sob and Soo-hee looked at each of the girls in the eye. “We must be strong. We must help each other.”

We all nodded. Mee-su wiped her eyes and no longer cried. The girls went back to their steps. Sun-hi still trembled.

Soo-hee led me back to my step. She tugged at my sleeve and told me to come closer. “Take this,” she whispered. She lifted a fold of her
yukata
. In her hand was the comb with the two-headed dragon. “
Ummah
said that it will protect us.”

“But
Onni
,
Ummah
gave it to you.”

“You were born in the year of the dragon,” Soo-hee said. “This comb with the dragon is a sign for you. Take it little sister.”

I wrapped my hand around the comb. It was the first time I had ever held it. It was heavy and cool in my hand, and felt like something important. But after what had happen to Jin-sook, I doubted if a comb could help me.

“Where will I hide it?” I asked.

“In your chamber pot,” Soo-hee said. “No one will find it there. Put it there now.”

I slid the comb inside my
yukata
and went to my room. I did as Soo-hee said and dropped it inside my chamber pot.

*

We waited in the courtyard exchanging nervous glances. Then, Lieutenant Tanaka walked in with his
shinai
at his side. Private Ishida grabbed his rifle and stood straight. The Japanese women continued to lounge on their steps. Now that the sun had set, it was cooling quickly. There was no breeze and I could hear the rumble of trucks in the village. We huddled close except for Sun-hi who stood off to the side and stared at the ground.

With his
shinai
, Lieutenant Tanaka pointed at the yellow dirt in front of him. He ordered us to form a line and stand straight with our hands at our sides. He said we were not to talk. “The officers are coming,” he said.

I heard voices and the laughter of men from behind the barracks. The voices grew louder and a group of men entered the courtyard led by a man a half head taller than the rest. I had seen Japanese senior officers before, but never anyone like him. He had square shoulders, smooth skin, and a strong chin. Just by the sight of him, I feared him like I’d never feared anyone before.

“Attention!” Lieutenant Tanaka barked. He and Private Ishida snapped to attention. The Japanese women stayed seated on their steps.

The square-shouldered officer approached Lieutenant Tanaka. “Lieutenant, I see we have new girls,” he said.

“Yes, Colonel,” Lieutenant Tanaka said crisply and with a slight bow. “One was disrespectful and had to be disciplined. She is in the infirmary. The doctor reports all the rest are virgins except the one at the end.” He pointed at Sun-hi.

“Let’s take a look,” the Colonel said. With his hands behind his back, he slowly examined each one of us. He stopped at me. I bowed my head low and looked at his feet. His boots were polished, clean and tied tight. Under my
yukata
, my knees shook.

“This is a young one,” he said. “Is she clean, Lieutenant?”

“Yes sir. She is the youngest. Her name is Namiko Iwata.”

The Colonel lifted my chin with a finger and examined my face from side-to-side. The shaking in my knees spread to my legs. The courtyard spun around me and thought I would faint. “You have a pretty face, Namiko Iwata,” he said, his eyes fixed on me. “Pretty and delicate, like an aristocrat.”

He turned to Lieutenant Tanaka and said, “This one.”

T
EN

August 2008, Seoul, South Korea

“H
e raped me
,” my birth-grandmother says, glaring at me from across her table. I want to look away but I don’t dare. “They took me to his quarters where he raped me. I was fourteen years old. I didn’t know what sex was. I had only been menstruating for five months. Five months! How could I know? How could I know?”

“You couldn’t possibly,” I say. It’s hot and humid inside the apartment. I need to fan myself, but I don’t dare. Not now. Not with Mrs. Hong reliving her horrible rape. The agony of it is written on her face and is deep in her eyes.

“He raped me in the cruelest way,” she continues. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but you must know. First, he told me to take off my clothes in front of him while he watched. I wanted to say no, but I had just seen how they’d beaten Jin-sook. I was terrified so I did what he said. I stood there naked and helpless like a baby. I shook with fear. Then he made me undress him. I had to start with his boots—those polished, clean boots that he tied so tight. I had to unbutton his shirt, then his trousers. He made me kneel and take off his undergarments as he stood over me, naked. He told me to look at him. He thought I would be impressed. I had never seen a naked man before. I had only imagined what they were like. I desperately wanted to run away, back to the hills behind our farm where Soo-hee and I used to run in the aspen trees.”

She locks her hands into a single fist and places them on top of the table. Her eyes never leave me. “Then he touched me. Everywhere. He ran his hands over my hair, my face, my neck, my breasts, my stomach, my legs, my genitals. He pushed me down and forced himself inside me. He pierced me and made me bleed. He pushed over and over again. Each thrust hurt more than the previous one. I cannot describe the pain. It was worse than pain. It was pain and terror and humiliation and shame all together. I wanted to die. I tried to resist but when I did, he just laughed at me. He was a strong man. I was a girl. And he was the Japanese Colonel.”

She clenches her fingers so hard I think they might break. The pain on her face never eases. She continues. “But what made the Colonel so cruel was that as he raped me he made me stare into his eyes. When I shut them, he ordered me to keep them open. ‘Look at me, girl,’ he ordered. ‘Keep your eyes open and look at me!’ So I looked into his eyes as he raped me. Can you imagine how humiliating that was? Can you?”

“No, ma’am,” I answer, “I can’t.”

“He did not use a condom,” she says. “He didn’t have to. I was a virgin and he was the first to rape me. So, when he orgasmed I felt his slime crawl inside every cell of my body like maggots. I could feel it spoil me, turn me rotten. And I knew he would always be in me. Always.

“Do you know what the worst part of it was?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, “I don’t.”

“The worst part is I thought it was my fault. I had always been so proud and stubborn and sure of myself. But when the Colonel raped me, I lost everything. I could only think of my grandparents, my mother and father and Soo-hee. I was overcome with shame but I did nothing wrong, nothing wrong. It doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“No,” I answer, “it doesn’t make any sense at all.”

She places her hands in two curves on the low table and turns to the purple flower in the glass bowl. “Do you know what I did when it was over, when he was done with me and told me to leave?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I bowed and thanked him,” she says in a whisper. “I don’t know why I did that. I wanted to spit on him, scream at him, tell him how much I hated him and all the Japanese. But I had to do the right thing, like Mother said. So I thanked him. It seemed to please him that I did.”

We’re silent for a long time. My birth-grandmother, who earlier was so proud, now looks completely humiliated. I don’t know what to say. I’d never met anyone who’d been raped before. I never even got close to it. Of course, sometimes I get nervous when I’m alone on the street at night or when there’s a sketchy-looking guy in a hallway. But I never knew how devastating rape could be. Until now.

Eventually, the pain in her face goes away and she straightens up. “Would you like some bori cha, Ja-young?” she asks.

“Bori cha? You mentioned it in your story. I don’t know what it is.”

She frowns. “Americans think all Koreans drink the same tea as the Chinese and Japanese. However many traditional Koreans, like me, prefer bori cha. It is roasted barley tea. You must have some.”

“Sure,” I say. “Thank you.”

She puts a pot on the stove and tosses in a handful of what looks like black tea. She takes two cups from the cupboard and brings them to the table. She moves gracefully in her
hanbok
. “I like my bori cha strong,” she says. “That is the way we used to drink it when I was a girl. It has become fashionable for our young people to drink coffee like the Americans. I don’t like coffee. It isn’t Korean and I am afraid I’m a traditionalist. I think Korea needs to hold on to its traditions, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“What do you know about our traditions, Ja-young?”

“Not much, I guess,” I confess.

“You should know more about Korea. Yes, you were raised in America. But an important part of you is here,” she says, tapping a finger on the table. “You cannot escape it.”

I can’t escape it? I’m not sure I want it. I’d rather be just an American, like my friends and family. But when I’m alone in my room and look in the mirror, I see someone different. The woman in the mirror is Korean. It’s in her face, her eyes, and her hair. Maybe it’s in her blood, too.

The teapot starts whistling and she gets it from the stove. She pours the tea through a strainer into our cups. The aroma fills the room. I take a sip and it’s really strong and bitter. It isn’t anything like the weak tea served on our tour. As I drink it, I feel cooler and more relaxed.

“Tell me, what do you think of my story so far?” Mrs. Hong asks over the top of her cup.

“It’s… horrible,” I say. Outside, the wind is blowing sending a breeze through the window. It gives some relief from the heat—or maybe it’s the bori cha.

She stares at me. I sense that she’s sizing me up to see if she’s made the right decision to give me the comb. I don’t want to disappoint her so I say, “Go on, please. Tell me the rest of your story.”

She smiles but her eyes turn hard. “I have only just begun!” she says. She puts her cup on the table and her hands in her lap.

She continues. “The day after the Colonel raped me, the troops came, and I quickly learned what to do. I had become an
ianfu
—a comfort woman. I learned a trick, too. I examined the men’s boots before they raped me. As I said, the Colonel had his boots tied tight. It was a warning sign. His type of cruelty was the worst. It was psychological as well as physical. After that, whenever I saw someone with boots tied tight, I knew I would be humiliated.

“But there were many others. A soldier with dirty, untied boots would be careless and quick. A soldier who kept his boots on would often hurt me. If his boots were clean and polished, it would be someone who wanted me to pretend I was enjoying him.

“Examining their boots was just something I did. But knowing what was going to happen to me did not help. In fact, it made it worse. It was like a torturer telling you what he was going to do to you next. By looking at their boots, I knew how they would rape me.

“And,” she says, “I was raped thousands of times.”