The Revisionists (39 page)

But if those men really were CIA, wouldn’t Bale have said as much?
Leo, we’re stepping on someone’s toes.
Short, sweet, cryptic. Why all the drama?

He hated them all. All the people who got in the way of his simply trying to do some good. The constant reminders that there were things he was not allowed to know, and that if he ever brushed up against that knowledge, he would be severely punished. He wanted to tell them all to fuck off. He wanted to hear Sari’s voice, see her face. She wasn’t his asset anymore—well, fine. Then maybe he could help her now the way he should have from the beginning. Maybe it had been fated this way.

His phone rang. The caller ID said it was one of the Latino grocery stores on Mount Pleasant Street. He’d never set foot in it—wrong number?

But somehow he knew. Maybe because he was thinking of her, maybe because he knew the place was just down the street from the diplomat’s house. Maybe because grocery stores would, for the rest of his life, always make him think of her.

“Hello?”

He was right. “Leo, please, please help me.” She was panicked and out of breath. “Please.”

23.

S
ari had been washing dishes when it started. A bedtime story about a camel who wishes he could learn how to fly had lulled Hana to sleep, and miraculously neither of the twins had woken yet. Sari had almost come to enjoy washing dishes at night, because at least no one was crying or demanding anything of her, and she could stand in one place and let her mind go blank.

She had now sent two flash drives in the recycling to Leo. She managed to get at Sang Hee’s computer late one night, after the mistress had gone to bed drunk and left her laptop on in the living room. It had been in sleep mode, and no password was required to start it up again. Sari looked over her shoulder every few seconds as she moved as much data as she could. She left the laptop exactly as she found it.

Sang Hee had spoken only a few words to Sari since the night she’d told her about North Korea. She seemed even quieter than usual, as if she were ashamed of what she had disclosed. Sari had seen little of the diplomat, who had been working late for much of that week.

As she washed dishes now, she heard them yelling in their bedroom. She turned off the water and walked down the hallway. As if the two sensed her, their voices grew quiet. She remembered, last night or the one before, waking up to the sounds of something similar and then falling back to sleep. She’d thought it was a dream, but perhaps not? They always acted so formal in each other’s presence—at least, when Sari was there to observe them. It was disturbing to hear them like this.

Five minutes later, Sari was almost finished with the dishes, and Hyun Ki came downstairs. She didn’t say anything and kept facing the sink, though the window in front of her displayed his reflection. Without greeting her he took a highball glass from the cabinet, then went to the liquor cabinet. He opened the freezer door and she heard the music of ice cubes dancing in his glass. They both drank a lot, Sari noticed, and they seemed to be picking up the pace of late.

She heard him pull up a chair and sit at the kitchen table. She couldn’t see his reflection from here.

“Leave the dishes for the morning,” he told her.

“I’m almost finished,” she said. But she still had to clean the counters, and take the trash out to the garage, and make up some bottles for the babies’ overnight feed.

“I want to be alone. Go to bed.”

She shut off the faucet. This only meant she’d have more to do in the morning, when the kids were awake, or in the middle of the night. But at least she could go to bed early. She untied the apron and put it away, then left the room without looking at him. She felt him watching her.

She was nervous around him. Leo had even asked if he had ever touched her, which bothered her, as it confirmed her fears that such a thing was indeed a possibility. And then that recent night, when he’d stroked her arm… She had wanted to sleep with her door shut that night, but Sang Hee had long ago ordered her to keep it open so she could hear the twins, even though she had a baby monitor by her pillow. Each night after, she lay in bed wide-eyed for a good while.

So on this night, after being sent away from the kitchen, she hurriedly brushed and washed, then got in bed. Wearing her sweat clothes, the blankets pulled to her chin. She could hear the occasional clink of new ice in his glass. Light from the kitchen kept the hallway brighter than she wanted, so she closed her door almost all the way.

She had a harder time than usual falling asleep. The forced-air heat switched on and off sporadically, and the accompanying change in air pressure nudged her door the slightest bit open or shut. The light from the hallway crept closer, then backed up, then crept closer again.

  * * *

She wasn’t sure what time she was roused. It happened softly, almost delicately, fingertips light on her cheek. Dreams melting off of them. Her eyes were open, yet everything was dark. Her mother had been visiting her again, and Sari heard her voice.

“Shhh.”

No, that wasn’t her mother’s voice. She tried to sit up, but the hand slid over her lips and jaw, holding her there. She couldn’t see him. He had closed the door.

Then he was climbing into the bed, her small twin bed, pressing her into the wall. She could smell the whiskey on his breath. His other hand was on her belly, searching for the bottom of her sweatshirt. He’d taken the covers off while she was sleeping.

Get away from him,
her mother said. The dream still lingering, none of this seeming real.
Get away from both of them, now.

He moved his hand from Sari’s mouth to support himself as he tried to get on top of her.

“Go away,” Sari said, pulling her knees together and pushing at his hand. She was whispering too. Maybe she should yell? What would happen? But what would happen if she didn’t? “Please.”

She put a hand on his chest, trying to hold him off as he settled on her raised knees. Even though he was a slight man, she realized how easy it would be for him to overpower her. His weight pressed her knees down, so she tightened them again and she heard him grunt as the ridge of his ribs bumped against her kneecaps.

Then a hand tight at her throat. “Stop fighting. Or it will be worse.”

But it was impossible not to fight with the hand gripping her like that. Even if she hadn’t wanted to resist, something primal prevented her from letting his hand stay there. She dug the nails of both hands into his wrist. She could see only shapes of blackness moving against the dark background as a bit of city light bled through the window blinds. She imagined her nails tearing out small chunks of flesh. She heard him suck in his breath. Then he hit her in the face. Her knees pushed up against his now-unsupported body, toppling him onto the floor.

It was even louder than she’d expected. The sound widening somehow, making echoes in this room and in others. She was reacting to everything, unable to think clearly, her arms now covering her chest as she sat up in bed.

Then the light burst on.

Sang Hee was in the doorway, screaming at them.
Bastard
and
whore
and both of them
damned to hell
. A white robe was barely cinched around her waist, the pressure from the crutches loosening the belt. Then she hobbled away as suddenly as she’d appeared.

Hyun Ki slowly rose from the floor, his expression more chagrined than ashamed. As if this had happened a few times before and was just an inconvenience he needed to steel himself against. Sari watched him for a moment, half afraid that he would close the door, lock it this time. Then they heard Sang Hee screaming again. She was in the kitchen, slamming cabinet doors, throwing glasses. The world was exploding, and in between pops Sari heard the twins crying.

She started to get up, the sounds of the twins’ cries reminding her of her duties, as if this were any other night. If she rocked them back to sleep and did her job, she told herself, maybe it would be.

She realized she was shaking when she stood. The diplomat stood too, and he turned to her, his face stern, a warning that didn’t need to be voiced.

The smashing of plates and china ceased, but the silence lasted only a moment, because there was Sang Hee again, screaming at them. Moving much faster than either of them thought a woman with a broken ankle could.

“You bastard! You rotten disgusting pig!” She ran at him and he turned just in time to absorb her blows, deflecting a few with his forearms, evading others.

His scream was far louder than Sari expected. And at a very different pitch.

And though Sari was unquestionably wide awake now, she heard her mother’s voice again:

Get away from her, quick!

Sari saw the glint of the metal and realized Sang Hee wasn’t hitting her husband but stabbing him. He pushed out against Sang Hee, and her body spun to the side as she pulled the blade out. The next blow was meant for Sari. She raised her arms in time and felt the heat along them. She was screaming now too, they all were, and she heard rather than felt the next strike as Hyun Ki lashed out at his wife, knocking her down. Sang Hee was still holding the knife, but she landed in a heap, the blood-streaked white robe fluttering and opening as if she were some fairy princess crash-landing in the real world.

Sari didn’t know where she was going, only that she heading down the hallway. She looked into the kitchen, but the shattered glass glittered everywhere, and she was barefoot. Where were her shoes? In the bedroom, with the two of them. She ran to the front door.

And take his briefcase, too,
her mother said.

“Missy! Missy!” She turned at the sound of Hana’s voice. “Missy, what’s wrong?” The little girl was standing at the top of the stairway in her pink nightie. It was darker here but still Sari could see the tears on the girl’s face. More screaming from the other room, although this time it was only Sang Hee, with Hyun Ki’s quieter voice occasionally snapping at her. Sari could barely hear the twins; they were separated from her by so many crises now.

She didn’t know what to tell the little girl.
You live in a cursed house, and there’s nothing I can do.

Her hand was on the doorknob when she noticed, amid the neatly arranged shoes, his briefcase. It wasn’t like him to leave it here; maybe he’d intended to work in the kitchen but had been waylaid by his whiskey. Or by the sight of Sari’s backside as she washed dishes. In the middle of all the yelling and crying she heard her mother’s command again, echoing.

(Later she realized she should have slipped on a pair of his loafers while she was taking the briefcase, but she hadn’t been thinking clearly then.)

She ran outside, down the walkway, and onto the sidewalk. She remembered that a few blocks away were some markets. Surely there would be a phone somewhere. She kept running until she couldn’t hear the screaming anymore.

She was limping by the time she made it out of the residential neighborhood and onto the main road. She’d stepped on acorns and branches and bottle caps and probably even worse things, and even her calloused feet could feel the cold of the November sidewalk. She hugged herself, the adrenaline and panic not quite enough to counteract the frigid air.

She stood at the intersection a moment, her hair blown across her face by the wind. It was the coldest weather she’d felt yet. A group of black men in colorful sports jerseys were standing in front of a convenience store, their conversation no longer interesting them as they watched her silently. A crazy young barefoot woman with a briefcase. Her arm stung, and she looked at it quickly, saw and felt the blood. The sweatshirt she wore was dark blue so maybe they couldn’t see how hurt she was. Even she wasn’t sure how hurt she was.

She turned right and headed toward a small grocery store. The people at the cash registers were neither as white as nor as dark as some of the Americans she’d seen; they must be some other race she wasn’t familiar with. She had no idea what the neon sign above her said.

The girl at the register looked about Sari’s age, her eyes wide. Sari asked for help in Bahasa, then in Korean. The girl stared an extra moment, then turned and yelled something. A much older woman emerged from one of the aisles and stared at their bedraggled customer. Strange music played overhead.

Sari mimed a telephone. Even asked for one, again in a language she knew they couldn’t understand, but she couldn’t stop herself, she needed help, please, could they help her?

There was cold judgment in the old woman’s eyes, yet the hand on Sari’s shoulder felt warm and gentle as she guided her to the front corner of the room where a white telephone sat beside a pile of newspapers. The old woman picked up the receiver and dialed three digits. Sari shook her head, assuming the woman was calling some official police or hospital line. The woman looked at her another moment and seemed disappointed. Then she put her finger down again, killing the call. She looked at Sari, opening her palm as if to ask,
Who do you want to call, then?

He was there in ten minutes, pulling in front of the store and turning on his hazards as he’d explained he would. He did not honk the horn. He had told her not to talk to anyone, as if he were concerned that someone fluent in Korean or Bahasa might suddenly materialize in this grocery store filled with sweet-smelling baked goods and huge bags of multicolored beans. The old lady had sucked in her breath when she noticed Sari’s wounded arm and yelled something at the young cashier, who’d run off and then reappeared with a paper towel. Sari nodded her thanks, then pressed the towel to her arm, which burned.

She nodded thanks to them again when Leo arrived, then she ran outside. He pushed open the passenger door, and they were driving away before she could say anything. He turned left at a light and told her to put on her seat belt.

“What happened?” he asked. She hadn’t said much to him on the phone.