Beasts of a Little Land(58)
Once finished, Lotus slipped into her bedspread, murmuring, “Should we take off our makeup? I’m so tired . . .”
“Me too,” Jade said, her eyes closed. She was already sedated from the influence of her best friend.
“What did that Japanese bastard do? He didn’t force himself on you, did he?”
“He tried . . . and I bit him,” Jade said, and Lotus broke out in laughter.
“That technique wasn’t in Aunt Dani’s courtesan playbook. But maybe it should’ve been,” she said.
Then Jade too smiled in the darkness, as though it were a funny story, after all. Watching her, Lotus felt proud of her ability to turn even the most awful events into things to laugh about. People thought she was naturally facetious, maybe a bit vulgar—but truly, she did this for her friends. Who made them laugh when there was rape, murder, and misery in every corner of this dark world? Only she did.
“He was quite good-looking, why didn’t you just let it happen?” Lotus continued. “You don’t have to be such a paragon of virtues, like some highborn lady. At the end of the day, when the lights are out, all men are the same. Japanese, Korean—they’re all vile.” Though she’d never say so out loud, she didn’t think she would have refused Ito, herself.
“I hate him,” Jade said passionately. “He thinks he can have any woman, and do anything to women—and they accept it as a matter of course because he’s powerful and rich and not hard on the eyes. Well, I’m not one of them.” Fully roused, she turned her head to face Lotus. The bright whites of her eyes looked bluish in the darkness.
“Lotus, how can you forget what they did to your sister? What about Hesoon? I will never let a Japanese bastard touch me while I have the strength to fight.” Lotus wondered when exactly her friend became so opinionated—when they were children Jade had always wanted to follow her lead. Only while growing up did she become so stubborn about her likes and dislikes.
“That’s fine, but Aunt Dani had the Judge, remember? Why do you think she was okay with that? Sometimes the world isn’t so black and white,” Lotus answered. “Anyway, we should get some sleep.”
BEFORE THE FIRST BLUE LIGHT of dawn entered the room, Lotus crawled out of the cot and went back to her chamber. The first thing she did was wash the previous night’s makeup off with foamy mung bean water. To others, it appeared that Lotus hated going anywhere without her face painted, but in reality, the sensation of cakey powder and rouge melting off and revealing her fresh skin always gave her a great satisfaction. Whenever she sat crossed-legged in front of her vanity and massaged peach-blossom water onto her clean face, she felt calm and honest with herself more than at any other time of the day.
Carefully, Lotus studied her smooth, poreless skin that gleamed on the bridge of the nose and tops of her cheeks. When she looked at herself this way, she believed she was beautiful, which gave her the confidence to voice thoughts that she otherwise concealed.
The anger she felt, for example—she thought now, as she combed camellia oil through her black hair. In The Story of ChunHyang, Lotus played HyangDan, the heroine’s maid. It was a comic, bawdy role and nothing more—it didn’t even have any singing. When she’d signed the contract with the theater, the director had promised her that she would get a starring role. Then the casting was announced, and Lotus marched up to the director’s office to demand an explanation. He only looked up at her and said defensively, “Of course I know you’re the better singer. But the camera loves Jade!” What truly enraged her was the fact that Jade, who was a mediocre singer at best, got to sing onstage, night after night. Why should Jade get the part and be featured in The Ladies’ Journal? And why should men look at her that way, like a thirsty person looks at a waterfall? Even their rickshaw driver HanChol was smitten with Jade. Watching those two flirt discreetly, as if to protect Lotus’s feelings, gave her a burning acid reflux.
As much as Lotus loved her friend, she was still infuriated every night. It was different with Luna: after giving birth to Hesook, Luna had assumed the role of a mother so fully that she seemed physically embarrassed by any attention. Unlike the two younger women, Luna was just a courtesan bound to her guild. She was called to parties often but held everyone at an arm’s length, even other courtesans. Whenever a man became infatuated with her, Luna would serenely and coolly make herself unavailable through various excuses until he lost interest. Although Luna had shot a few advertisements for a beauty cream and a hair soap, and her face was shown everywhere in newspapers and magazines, she was essentially alone—and Lotus didn’t begrudge her own sister’s solitude.
She was finished with her toilette. Her face was concealed again beneath a fresh coat of crushed seashells, rice powder, and lead. Her hair was done up in a chignon, but parted on the side and held together with pins instead of a binyuh. This coiffure went better with her Western-style silk blouse, cut looser and much longer over the waist, and the matching red wool skirt. When Lotus came out of her room, her maid was crossing the courtyard to the kitchen in order to prepare everyone’s breakfast and washing water.
“Tell Jade that I’ll be out all morning. I’ll meet her at the theater by five,” she said, walking out of the gates. There was no rickshaw waiting for her outside—she hadn’t asked HanChol to drive her this morning, because she didn’t want Jade to know. She walked two blocks to the boulevard and lucked out in hailing a rickshaw, although there were not many drivers left nowadays.