Shelter(11)

“Your father’s in stable condition now. His CAT scans and vitals are all good, and we’ve injected an anesthetic into the area around his ribs, which seems to be making him more comfortable.”

“What about my mother?”

“She’s resting now. I suspect she’ll sleep through the night. Normally, I would have let the police talk to her before using that much sedative, but the physical exam was—challenging.”

“She’ll be all right though, won’t she?” Gillian asks.

The doctor nods, but Kyung doesn’t like the way his expression changes. People who work in emergency rooms are supposed to have a high tolerance for the worst kinds of injuries. The discomfort on the doctor’s face suggests that he’s still struggling with Mae’s.

“Physically, her injuries weren’t very severe. Mostly lacerations and bruises. A sprained ankle. All the same, I’d like to keep her here a few days for observation.”

There’s a clock above the water cooler, an old-fashioned one with black hands and a red line that sweeps through the seconds. Kyung has been at the hospital all afternoon. It was light when he arrived, and now the sky outside is turning a deep, ink-washed blue. The streetlights are all lit, their halos swimming with mosquitoes. Six hours, he thinks. Six hours and no one will confirm what he already knows.

“They raped her, didn’t they?”

The doctor lowers himself into a chair, settling into the molded plastic as if preparing for a longer conversation. “There’s evidence of that, yes.” He doesn’t look at Kyung as he says this. Instead, he stares at a scuff mark on the floor. “I’ve taken all the necessary precautions against STDs and HIV—antibiotics and antiretrovirals—but I opted against the morning-after pill since she’s postmenopausal. Like I said, she’ll recover from the cuts and bruises soon enough, but everything else … I think she’ll need quite a lot of counseling to work through.”

Kyung rests his forehead on the window, gently tapping his head against the glass. Postmenopausal, STDs, HIV, morning-after pill. These are words that don’t belong together in any sentence. He doesn’t understand what kind of people would rape a fifty-six-year-old woman. Even the word: “rape.” It rings and rings in his ears, and he can’t make it stop.

“Enough, Kyung. That’s enough.”

Gillian is digging her fingernails into his skin. The doctor is trying to pin back his arms.

“Do you hear me?” she shouts. “That’s enough.”

Kyung staggers back a step. There are prints all over the window, greasy prints from his fists and forehead that he doesn’t remember making. He has no idea how long he’s been banging on the glass, but the pain catches up with him quickly. He puts his hands out for balance, struggling to stay upright as pinpricks of light float through the room. The doctor eases him into a chair while Gillian slides a cup of water in front of him.

“You need to calm down, Kyung. That’s not helping anyone.”

He brings his fist down on the cup, smashing the paper flat and spraying water across the table. Gillian and the doctor jump back. She looks at him disapprovingly, straight down her nose, and wipes a stray drop from her cheek. Then she turns to the doctor as if Kyung is no longer there.

“What about Marina?” she asks. “The housekeeper?”

“She’s stable now too. I meant to ask, does Miss Jancic have any family in the area? Anyone we can contact?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never heard her talk about having relatives in the States. Why?”

“Well, she’s uninsured,” he says lightly. “Eventually, this will become a problem—not for me, but for the hospital. In the short term, my biggest concern is releasing her into someone’s care. She’ll need a fair amount of help while she’s recuperating.” The doctor runs his fingers through his hair. He looks exhausted, worn out behind the eyes. “In any event, why don’t you both go home for the evening? Everyone’s resting now. We’ll have more news tomorrow.”

“We can’t see his parents?” Gillian asks.

“No, not now. Mrs. Cho is heavily sedated, and Mr. Cho requested no visitors this evening. You understand.”

Kyung understands that his father doesn’t want to explain what happened, how he let it all happen. And for the first time, he realizes that he made a mistake when he found Mae in the field. She didn’t say, “Your father hurt me.” She said, “Your father is hurt.” Her loyalty to this man is insane. Even in that state, beaten and brutalized and reduced to nothing, she was trying to protect him, to save him. It should have been the other way around.





TWO

The Presbyterians first came to visit when Kyung was fifteen. It was a common interruption in their old neighborhood—zealots of every denomination ringing the bell at odd hours, selling their magazines or peddling salvation. His father would usually bark something unkind and slam the door in their faces, but not so with the Presbyterians. With them, it was different. Maybe it was because they were Korean. Or maybe it was because they were poor. Whatever the reason, Jin invited the ragged-looking couple inside to join him for coffee. A week later, two more couples followed. And four more after that. Within a month, the parlor was teeming with Koreans, who eventually convinced Jin to worship at their church. Kyung didn’t understand what his father saw in them, why the sudden change of heart, but he knew what they saw in him. His big house, his generous checks, his willingness to sponsor anything they asked.