Dominion (67 page)

“But—we don’t even know them.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it? Having people over for dinner is how you get to know them.”

“But, they’re …”

“What? Korean? Yeah. And we’re black. And Jake and Janet are white. And Ray’s American Indian. So what?”

“Trying to shame me into agreeing to this, huh?”

“I’m not asking your permission, Clarence. They’re coming. I hope you’re here. You can hide out at Hattie’s with the kids if you want to, but she’ll put you to bed early. And I’ll have a lovely evening with the Kims. I’ll just tell them you didn’t show up because the man who writes columns preaching color blindness is a racist.”

Clarence glared at her. “I’m not a racist.”

“Fine. Then we’ll both be here for dinner tomorrow at 6:30.”

“It must be hard for you living here sometimes,” Geneva said to the Kims. “We’ve traveled overseas, but I can hardly imagine starting a new life in another country.”

“Is strange place. Even now that we Americans,” Benjamin Kim said. “We very scared sometimes. But we do not want to look scared, so we … what is word?”

“Compensate,” Mae Kim offered. Obviously, they’d talked about it before.

“Yes. We act … in control. This make people think we aloof, hostile. But this is not so. Well, perhaps it is sometimes so.”

“What do you mean?” Clarence asked.

“In Korea, there is Confucian emphasis on education. Among Koreans it created, what is word, hierarchy of skin color. When someone studies indoors all day, he has fair skin. This represent honorable life of scholar. Darker skin comes from working all day in sun. It represents lowly working-class life. So, is sometimes true Koreans keep distance from darker Americans but want to be included among lighter ones.”

“One thing I respect about Koreans,” Clarence said, “is you’re such hardworking people.”

“This come from desire to break free from centuries of poverty and oppression from Japanese.”

Geneva looked surprised. “I’ve always thought of Korean and Japanese as almost the same,” she said. Both Kims looked shocked at this statement.

“Oh, no. We very very different,” Mr. Kim said. “Korean people bitter toward Japanese because bad things they do to us. We work and work, make money, send our children to good schools. Our students do very well academically, but sometimes poor in relating to people. Since we are Christians, we have asked our Lord to help us overcome this. We have prayed about it. When you invited us to dinner, it was answer to our prayer.”

Clarence nodded sheepishly, keeping his eyes from meeting Geneva’s.

“I’m so glad to hear you’re Christians,” Geneva said. “We are too.”

“Very good. We think maybe so. I wonder why black and Korean churches not together,” Mr. Kim said. “We share very much in common. We both experience much unjust treatment. Nearly 60 percent of Korean Americans are Christians. Many blacks Christians too, no? We latecomers to America. But we want people accept us.”

“Can I ask you something?” Clarence said.

“Certainly,” Mr. Kim said.

“In your store, when you give change to black people, why don’t you put it in their hands instead of on the counter?”

The Kims looked at each other in surprise.

“Respect,” Mr. Kim said. “In Korea we raised you must keep distance. We do not put change in hands because then our hands touch customer. This not polite. Look and you see. Never put change in hands of anyone, Korean or white or any color. It very rude. We do not do it.”

“What reason you think we not put change in hands?” Mrs. Kim asked.

“It seems like … disrespect for blacks,” Clarence admitted, fidgeting. “Like you don’t want to touch us because you think we’re inferior to you. I never noticed you do the same for everyone.”

“Do many blacks think this way?” Mr. Kim asked.

“Yes,” Clarence said. “As a matter of fact, they do. I’ve heard lots of people talk about it.”

“But no one ever mention this to us,” Mrs. Kim said. “Perhaps it something we need to change.”

“Very hard to change,” Mr. Kim said. “Learned from time little child.”

“But if it make people angry,” Mae said, “we should try to change.”

“Or maybe we should try to understand your culture better,” Clarence said. “Then we wouldn’t be offended in the first place.”

After some delicious sweet potato pie, Mrs. Kim said, “We still very sorry about your sister and her little girl. We like them very much.”

“Used to give candy to little girl,” Mr. Kim said. “Felicia very happy when I give her lunch box.”

“With a giraffe on it?” Clarence asked.

“Yes,” Mr. Kim said. “She like it very much.”

“We miss them both so much,” Geneva said.

“Is very hard to lose family,” Mrs. Kim said. “We lose brother and one son.” Her eyes looked terribly sad. “We thank Jesus we will see them again.”

“Knowing that makes all the difference, doesn’t it?” Geneva said.

They smiled and nodded. Mr. Kim hesitated, then asked, “Have police found killers yet?”

“No. I’m afraid not,” Clarence said.

Mrs. Kim nudged her husband. He spoke very deliberately. “Did anyone talk about strangers in neighborhood?”

“What do you mean?”

“Night sister killed I work late. Usually lock doors nine o’clock in summer, just before gets dark. I inside cleaning up at nine-thirty. Someone drive up, and I look outside. I think if this one of my customers I will open door. But never see them before. Very fancy car, silver color. Boy comes to door, wearing red sweatshirt. One in car wearing same. He leave door open, and I see inside car. He bang on my door, and I hide inside, look through blinds.”

“What did you see?” Clarence asked.

“In front seat of car big weapon.”

“What color was the weapon?”

“Black. Very big. Made me decide not to open door. Then they drive off.”

“You don’t know where they went?”

“Headed north on Martin Luther King. Up this way.”

“What did they look like?”

“One at door not too tall. Look strong. Short hair. No glasses. Boy in car, driver, not sure.”

“Were they black?” Clarence asked.

Mr. Kim looked down. “Yes. Very sorry.”

“That’s all right,” Clarence said. “Most people are black around here, the good ones and the bad ones. Anything else you remember about them?”

“Faces very hard for me.” Benjamin Kim hesitated. “To us, black Americans look very much the same.”

Clarence laughed. “I’ve always thought all Koreans look alike.”

“In fact,” Geneva said, “we have a hard time telling the difference between Koreans, Japanese, and Chinese.” The Kims looked amazed at this.

“Police never ask me about anything,” Mr. Kim said. “But when I hear big gun used, I wonder about what I saw. So sorry not mention before. Sometimes afraid to say anything. Wonder what people will think. Not want any trouble.”

“Thanks for telling me now,” Clarence said. As his wheels turned, Geneva picked up the dessert dishes, and they settled in the living room.

“Hattie Burns told me you had a store in Los Angeles,” Geneva said. “Is that right?” Mr. and Mrs. Kim both nodded. “Is it true that your store was burned down in the riots?” Geneva asked. They nodded again. “That must have been very hard.”

“Yes. Insurance only cover building. Work very hard to build up many customers. All that lost.”

“Why did you leave L.A.?” Clarence asked.

“Everyone tell us same thing will happen again.” Mr. Kim cleared his throat. “Hard for us to understand.”

“You mean the riots?” Geneva asked.

“Yes. Had many good customers, most black. Like them very much. One Korean store owner did bad thing, shot black girl for shoplifting. She die. Very sad. But most of us have good relationship with customers. We understand white people mistreated blacks many years. Very sad. I think first decision about police who beat Mr. King not right. But I very confused. In riots, jury not hurt. Judge not hurt. Very few white people hurt. Mostly Korean and black people hurt. Our businesses burned and looted. Half of all losses to Koreans, most others to blacks.”

“I can see how that would be hard to understand,” Geneva said.

“Very strange,” Mr. Kim said. “Black people in Los Angeles think twelve white people on jury in Simi Valley—have never been there, do not know this place—do injustice. Then black rioters punish Koreans and blacks for what twelve white people decide somewhere else. Cannot understand this. No Koreans on jury. Do you understand? Can you explain to us?”

“Sometimes,” Clarence said, “people have a lot boiling up inside them because of the past. But burning your store was wrong, of course. Absolutely wrong.” The expression on the Kims’ faces told him they needed more explanation. “I think by always talking about racism our leaders, black and white, have made people think it’s all right to hurt and destroy when they think they see racism. But it’s innocent people who get hurt. And those who do the hurting aren’t martyrs or heroes, they’re just criminals. My father says when people of character are wronged, they never respond by doing wrong to others. Maybe the verdict showed lack of character in some whites. And the rioting showed lack of character in some blacks.”

They sat quietly for thirty seconds, the issue clearly unresolved. Finally Geneva said, “Tell me about your sister, Mae. I’m sorry she couldn’t come with you tonight. I always see her working in the back room, and I usually say hello to her. But she never looks at me. Have I done something to offend her?”

Mae looked down. “Oh, no. Have you not seen her face?”

“You mean … the scars? Well, I noticed them, yes. But she’s still a pretty lady.”

“She not think so. Does not want people see her. Is very ashamed.”

“Was she born with those scars?”

“Oh, no. Happened during riots. When store burned down. She closing that night. Caught in fire. Benjamin rescue her or would have died.”

“Very bad burns,” Mr. Kim said. “Very painful. We just glad she live.” He hesitated. “She different now. Before, friendly with customers. Now afraid.”

“Is it … hard for her to trust black people?” Geneva asked. Neither of them responded.

They talked for another hour before the Kims said they needed to get home.

“Thank you very much for inviting us over,” Mae said. “Would like to have you to our house.”

“Under one condition,” Geneva said. “That you promise to fix us Korean food.”

“Oh, yes. Yes! I fix you very nice Korean meal.” Mae smiled warmly as she and Benjamin backed away from the Abernathys’ front door, repeatedly expressing their thanks.

The moment the door closed, Clarence’s smile lost its hold.

Blacks? Fancy car? Red sweatshirts? Big rifle? What’s going on?

The young man sat holding the .357 Smith and Wesson revolver, polishing its stainless steel with his mama’s scarf until he could see in it his distorted reflection. He turned the four-inch barrel up and spun the cylinder, emptying all six shells on the bed. Staring blankly, he carefully reinserted one round.