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The sun beat down on the Ueno station and the road and pavement in front of it. From the mouth of the station below the clock spilled a steady stream of people, a trickle of hats and hairpieces and heads of hair which gleamed in the noon sun, growing to a torrent as the clanking of the train grew distant, slowing again to a trickle some minutes later. In the heat they padded at their sweaty temples and foreheads, and there was almost a rhythm to the way one of them and then another would reach for a kerchief and pad at the sweat which began to flow almost as soon as they stepped out of the station into the sun. There were men in suits and women in kimonos, and some women in dresses, in gay summer colours, and the dresses swayed as they walked, and fluttered in the inconstant breeze. Watching the flow of leather and cloth and suede shoes, square-toed and round-toed shoes in brown and black, some shiny and some scuffed, square clacking rope sandals and high leather boots was Bae Jinsol (Bae to her friends), waiting in the sun with only her cap for shade, for a pair of cherry-red shoes on a slim figure to pass by. The clock showed half past twelve: she was late today.
She was starting to get a headache from the heat when two points of oblong red flitted past the white pillars of the station and onto the burning stone. Two large eyes, a delicate nose and plump lips in a tiny round face under a hat, and dimples when she smiled. How could a face be so tiny, how could a girl be so pretty? Bae had seen the face from the side, from the front, from an angle, studied it under the sun and under the clouds and in the rain, and still could not understand how a girl could be so perfectly sculpted and shaped, so mesmerising when she smiled, so adorable when she puffed her cheeks. Today, though, the face was furrowed in a frown, and Jinsol felt her heart squeeze tight when the girl blew out her cheeks and forced herself to smile again. She waved, and Bae waved back as cheerfully as she could. As always, the girl passed her by without a word, and Bae settled back down onto the scorching pavement with her toolbox, watching her figure shrink and vanish behind a bus as she crossed the road.
Some minutes later, a severe-looking salaryman walked over, pointed at his shoes, and reached for his wallet to toss her a hundred-yen note even before she could get her cloth and wax, a fluttering and flitting note which made Bae’s heart jump to her mouth. A hundred yen! She started eagerly on the shoe he placed on the box, working her way all around, patting away the drops of sweat before they could drip onto the leather and polish. A hundred yen! A hundred- She tried to hide her glee in face of the man's stern visage, but could not keep herself from humming a tune, a song she had heard coming from the dance-hall just last week.
She finished the first shoe, and the salaryman nodded and put his other foot on the board, not before throwing another hefty hundred-yen note on the ground. If her eyes could pop out of their sockets, they would have, she thought, and rolled on the ground onto the notes. Two hundred yen! What did that mean, two hundred yen? She took a long draught of water from her canteen, and started on the other shoe. She tried to focus on her cleaning and polishing, but already she was salivating at the thought of noodles, or bread, or, or she would buy a chocolate bar for the red-shoed girl, or a bar for herself and a bar for her-
Even as she calculated what to do with her newfound wealth, she forced herself to concentrate on the leather which she made double and triple sure to shine as best she could. Her job done, the man merely grunted his approval and left, leaving Bae to pick up both (both!) of the notes in a kind of heat-induced ecstasy and stuff them into her pockets. She crossed the road refill her canteen with water from the water-fountain, then retreated to the shade of a large tree, sitting on a bench with her hands tight about her tools, her box and her brushes and her polish and her cloth. She fell asleep on the bench, dreaming about steaming bowls of ramen, tall heaped bowls of white rice, dreaming of buying a thousand rice balls at once, so that she could eat them for a whole year, at the rate of three a day.
It was still afternoon when she awoke to an aching back and splitting headache. What was worse, she needed to pee. Urgh. She hated doing it in the back alleys like some of her friends did, but she hated the way they stared when she used the toilets at the department stores and station, as if she were breaking some law just by being there, and also wanted to keep up the charade of being a boy, at least during the day. She took off her cap to ruffle her uneven short hair, and wondered if it would grow out nicely in the future. When she got older, she would grow out her hair, and she would— she didn't know what she would do, but it would be as pretty as the red-shoed girl’s hair, luscious and thick and tied up pretty. And she would go into a sparkling restaurant and order— whatever they ordered in the dim glimmering restaurants with squiggly foreign words on the signs, and the girl who sat facing her would laugh at how she mispronounced the foreign words on the menu. Holding it in, she went to drink a little more water, before going back to the station. She envied the boys who sat in the shade waiting for customers: she had tried that once, and it had not gone well. She cast furtive glances at them, let her gaze linger on the three or four of them as they chatted, waiting for the next train and its cars of potential customers. She wanted, somehow, to know what they talked about. Did they talk about the girls they liked? Customers they hated? Would they have treated her differently if they knew she was a girl? She sighed, trying to ignore the sun on her sleeves and breast, and the pounding in her head. Today she had the thought of the two hundred yen to keep her company. That was seven bowls of ramen. No, eight, and even more rice balls.
The shadows were lengthening as she did the finishing touches for a regular, a young bespectacled salaryman who didn't seem to mind the heat, and waved at him as he left, slipping the twenty yen into her pocket. The heat now seemed to radiate off the road, and she wished she could reach into her shirt and scratch at the annoying itch which crawled below her chest bindings. The five-yen tip seemed suddenly paltry beside the two hundred, and it made her frown at the silhouette of the young man as he went. She sighed, scolding herself for it. On any other day she would have bounced with joy at the tip, but today she had barely managed an appreciative nod. She hoped he would not mind; she hoped he would come back. No time to worry about that now. The crowd thinned out, and it was time to go. Normally, she would have stayed a little longer, for the off chance of one or two more customers, but today she didn’t bother: she had the two hundred yen after all. She might even buy a ticket to Ginza, to see the nice shops, to dream of the clothes in the windows.
Instead, she looked for the katsudon stall near the shopping street, one which had been set up a little way from the entrance, where the crowds were not so insistent. She walked along, humming, with her toolbox and stool on her shoulder. One nice meal, today, and then she would have rice balls for the rest of the week. The queue had already started to grow, but she had time. She hummed as she waited, sniffed the air rich with meat and oil. Five people ahead of her now, and the street glowed with lamplight. The murmur of the crowd, the cries of the sellers of candies could vaguely be heard over at the main shopping street. Two people in front of her. Even the cheapest option was eighty yen, a horrid waste, she told herself, more than a whole day’s earnings, but she wanted, she had wanted to try the stall ever since the day she passed by and heard the sound of sizzling batter. She had imagined it, at the time, the crisp brown about the softness of the meat, the rice, the soup, the cabbage sliced up fine, which she would eat slowly, very slowly, for it was pricey even with the two hundred yen in her- she felt about her pocket again, the two hundred-
Biting her lip, she looked again and again, but there was only the clink of coins, the sixty yen which was today’s customers, plus tips minus the rice balls for lunch. One person in front of her now. With gritted teeth she left the line before the shopkeeper could ask for her order, running with the stool and box clanking and scraping behind her to the bench she had napped on in the afternoon, but she knew already she would not find the two precious notes, blown by the wind, picked up by an opportunistic cleaner, chewed up in the belly of some rich woman’s dog. She began to cry in earnest now, but forced herself to cry in silence, at least until she got back. She closed up her face, hefted up her things over her shoulder and walked quickly back, breaking into half-runs, trying to ease the weight in her chest by pushing her legs against the pavement as fast as they would go, letting muscle memory take over all the way back, clattering up the makeshift stairs into the makeshift attic of the makeshift house divided up by makeshift boards into makeshift rooms which barely kept her warm in winter, and boiled with heat in summer. Letting her stool and box fall, tearing off the coat, the shirt, the bindings at her chest, the trousers, she breathed for several long moments before she crouched in her underclothes, slowly, and lay down on the mattress, and finally let herself properly cry.
“Cut it out! Noisy bitch!” Someone called from beyond the partition board. Bae curled up a little more, keeping her tears quiet, inoffensive, wishing she could disappear where she lay.
Seol Yoon-ah (Sullyoon to her friends) was having a bad day. Who wouldn’t, if they had been fired the day before, an hour into their shift for something which wasn’t their fault? She should have seen it coming, and she had seen it coming, the whispers, the frosty looks, but she had thought them just jealous of her looks. She had never felt so helpless, so humiliated before. What use was pleading, when it was her word against theirs? And she had pleaded, pathetically, pitifully, and he had only sneered and sent her packing all the same. She should not have begged so. Pathetic. She should have just slapped him and left. Hot tears ran down her face at the memory of her own grovelling, at the memory of his scorn. Sighing, she looked up to see the shoe-shine boy with his box in the sun. It had to be miserable, sitting out of the shade all day. She forced herself to smile, and waved at him, and he waved back, as he always did.
After a half hour or so of moping in the park she trudged back to the station, feeling no better than before. Sighing, she looked up to see the shoe-shine boy asleep on a bench in the shade, just in time to see two hundred-yen notes slip out of his pocket and flutter onto the sidewalk. The boy, his cap fallen to one side, slept on, unable to see his two hundred precious yen flip and fly in the wind, floating towards Sullyoon, who hurried quietly over to pick them up. And still he remained none the wiser. He had to be really exhausted, to fall asleep on the hard bench in the heat like that. He was quite good-looking, she realised as she got closer, when his face was not shaded by the cap, a face which would be girlish if it weren’t for the grime and bits of shoe-polish all over, the streaks at his brow and temple where he had wiped his face without thinking. If her heart beat a little faster, it was just the excitement at the thought of the two hundred yen. She walked on before her conscience could tell her what to do.
Now that they were safely pocketed in her purse, she started to feel the beginnings of guilt. Whatever. He had probably stolen it off someone anyway. She giggled at the thought, feeling better already. She would buy something nice for Jun, for once, and maybe he would stop making excuses for bailing on three dates in two weeks. She sighed. She supposed his work was really busy, and she didn’t want to be a paranoid girlfriend. Perhaps he had paid for her rent one too many times. She made her way towards the station, past the spot where the boy usually shone his shoes, and breathed a sigh of relief when she got into the shade. Two hundred yen, worth almost two days working at the bar. She would buy something for Jun, and then something to eat. She wondered if the “Empress” was hiring.
Bae had fallen asleep somehow, on her empty stomach, and woke up in the early hours of the morning, tossing and turning with hunger and heat. She thought hungrily of the katsudon, tormented herself by imagining the crisp crunch of batter and the sweet and savoury sauce, her mouth watering as she imagined the round-grained rice, the tenderness of the pork cutlet. Miserable, frustrated, sweaty, she sat up, giving up on sleep. She should have eaten something for dinner, even a rice ball or mackerel sushi, a little set of six, all of her sixty yen in one go, but at least she would have been less miserable. With a sigh, she bound up her chest again, put on an old shirt and trousers, and with a little box of soap she took her bundle of dirty clothes to the canal where the women washed their clothes. She would be a little earlier than them, even with their early hours, but it would take her mind off the hunger, at least until she could get a little breakfast. She padded down the stairs, her light frame barely creaking the boards. The morning air was cooler, and she breathed in with something like gladness, even if her stomach groaned with hunger. The makeshift house whose partitioned attic they had let her occupy was not even the oldest or the most run down of the houses along the street, only the most cheaply constructed. She hummed, softly, a song she had heard on the week-end, passing by a bar. A lovely voice had leaked out of the door as a boy (a real boy, pimples and all) held it open for a group of foreigners, and she had to stop and listen, and loitered by the windows, by the door, trying not to be seen by the boy and his round glasses, or by the stylish men and women behind the glass windows. She hummed the melody to herself, filling in the words she didn’t know with empty syllables, wondering if she would hear it again.
The canal ran, smooth and clear as glass, almost still as pond-water, and the lights in the street and the leaves of the trees yellowed by the lights in the street were reflected in its surface. The water rippled and splashed as she crouched to wash her bundle of shirts and trousers, and the surface broke and fractured, splitting the lights and leaves into tiny pieces, hiding the few stars which could still be seen in the early sky. She washed the clothes slowly, rinsing them first in water before adding a little soap, and then a little more. The early morning was still save the crickets, and from somewhere a dog howled. The splashing of water woke a heron, and it spread its large grey wings, and flew away, wide wings whooshing in the air. The ripples grew, and spread down the canal, bumping the boats moored some way downstream, undulating the leaves which lay green and peaceful on its surface, and then stopped, and for a long time the last of the ripples spread and spread, bouncing off the banks and spreading ever thinner, into a film of rippling and shifting lines which reflected the pale dawn below the roofs.
---
Sullyoon sighed, and ruffled her hair. Jun was late again. She looked at her watch, a pretty foreign thing which had been his first gift, and frowned. Twenty minutes past one. The shoe-shine boy had been his usual sprightly self, though she had searched his face for anything beyond his usual smile as she walked past, and wondered if he had stolen another two hundred to make up for his loss. Ginza wavered in the heat, and she watched as ladies went past, proper ladies, in their European dresses and European shoes, not pretend ladies wearing gifts from their boyfriend, wearing little pearl earrings whose points of delicate nacre-colour made Sullyoon burn with the falsity of her own cheap pair. Jun would buy her a nice pair, she was sure, if she asked him slyly enough. Another ten minutes, and she gave up at last, vowing to give him a piece of her mind the next time they met. He had never been late for their Saturday dates. She turned on her heel, and her shoes click-clacked through the bustle of Ginza on a Saturday afternoon. What could it be, which so occupied him on a Saturday? She made her way across the road, to the great western-style building and its clock tower, past the great glass windows of the department store, past the strips of neon lights which in the evening announced the cinemas to the street, past the windows of cafés which bustled with prim waitresses and glass-dimmed cups of coffee, and parfaits and financiers and things which she knew not the name of. She stopped for a while to watch the willow trees and the cars and the road, and sighed.
It was another week before the other shoe dropped for Seol Yoon-ah. She had not found a new job, nor had she spent the two hundred yen, but she went for her daily walk all the same. Jun had apologised on Tuesday, and then again on Thursday, but now he seemed strange, sometimes attentive, and at other times in his own world. Perhaps it was nothing, after all. But now, on Saturday, at half-past one, he was running thirty minutes late again, and the movie had started five minutes ago. She sighed and clutched her tickets, the ones she had dipped into her savings to buy, a hundred and sixty perfectly good yen for a fancy theatre in Ginza with snacks and drinks, and still she had not touched the two hundred yen, still thinking of something nice to buy for him (or something which might make him more punctual, a medicine or magic spell).
She walked briskly toward the theatre: she did not want to get there all sweaty and dirty. Perhaps he had gone there by mistake, perhaps he was the one angry at her for being half an hour late and counting. But no, there was no-one waiting at the theatre door. The movie proper was not yet on, and the sprightly ads droned on about watches, shoes, holidays in Malaya, in Penang and Malacca and Singapore. She had bought seats near the back, and went to her pair of seats, making her way past several pairs of legs before plopping down into her place, leaving the inner seat empty in case Jun decided to show up, after all. The “Empress” and “Saturn” clubs ran adverts, too, showing off their beauties, showing off their polished interiors. Halfway through, as she was rolling her eyes at some obvious lie or the other, a couple entered.
“Come on, we're late.” A girl’s voice, a little sharp, a little saccharine.
“It's fine, the movie hasn't even started, look,” and Sullyoon froze in her seat, desperately trying to disbelieve her own ears. She looked over to the door, and even by the faint glow of the screen she could tell who it was. She clenched her teeth, trying to calm herself. Perhaps it wasn't him. She had told him which movie they were seeing, after all, and the time. He couldn't have been so stupid, could he? The silhouettes made their way to the seats right in front of her, and her heart clenched at the way he patted her seat down for the girl. It couldn't be. Yet each murmured word, each little laugh and term of endearment only seared it further into her mind, only made it all the more obvious that it had to be him, that he had been seeing her for a while now, and that they were about to kiss. They were about to kiss? Their lips—
She managed to make her exit, as gracefully as she could, without crying out loud, without screaming, without making a scene. Their tongues, their lips and tongues and grasping desperate hands were still fresh and horrible in her memory, forever silhouetted incongruously against the MGM lion. She blinked and blinked, rubbed her eyes, slapped herself, but the memory refused to fade, boring its way into her mind the more she tried to stop thinking about it.
On Sundays, the crowd was different, thick with families and lovers and men in leisure clothes. The children ran ahead, heads bobbing, and the white polo shirts and pastel dresses were interspersed with yukatas in swathes of colour and dyed patterns, and then grey trousers and black trousers. A woman in emerald green passed in a large hat, with a man in a crisp white shirt, laughing. The sandals and clogs were more frequent now, and the wood of the clogs clipped the hard pavement and road pleasingly. Now and then a child in their tiny robe and clogs would run, and now and then one or another stumbled and fell, to the yells of their parents. Half past twelve on the clock by the station, and then forty minutes past the hour, and then one o’clock, and the girl in the red shoes had yet to go past Bae Jinsol in her cap and fraying coat and shirt and tie.
She sighed, took another sip of water. Perhaps she was on a date with a boy at Ginza, perhaps they went into the shops with the nice dresses, and the stores with the chocolate and the lemon-drops and the chewing-gum. Perhaps he bought her bottles of dark Coca-cola, dripping with condensation, fizzing as it poured into the glass. She pouted at the thought, letting herself be a little girlish. No-one was watching, anyway. The road shimmered with heat, the air trembled with heat, and her shirt was stained and soaked with sweat already. She was hungry, even after the rice balls for lunch. Today the shade of the station looked more inviting than ever, and she craved a spot by one of the pillars, a good back-rest out of the sun, a spot now taken by a lanky boy with deep-set eyes. The one who had given her the black eye sat on his right, and she fancied she could see them glance over, no doubt in mock pity. She wiped another trickle of sweat on her sleeve, and wished fervently for the umpteenth time that she didn’t have to bind up her chest each day, that she didn’t have to hide her figure and neck with a coat and high-collared shirt, wished that she could use the girl’s toilet without waiting till the coast was clear. At least when it rained, they grudgingly gave her a place right at the edge of the shelter, but even then the drops which blew in often ended up soaking the back of her shirt and cap anyway. She sighed, almost giving in to the temptation there and then to tear off her suit and shirt and the cloths at her chest to get at the place between her breasts which never stopped itching on the hottest summer days. The salaryman from last week did not make an appearance today, either, and no windfall of two hundred yen was forthcoming. The next time, she would fold them up in the inner pocket of her trousers. A regular approached, a cheery old man who always tipped her five yen a side, and she smiled as he waved at her.
“Something the matter, young man?”
“Nothing, grandpa,” pushing her voice as low as it would go, as she usually did.
The old man looked like he was about to say something, but lapsed into silence instead, watching Bae carefully as she finished up his other shoe. A ten-yen tip, as usual. She smiled and thanked him cheerily—she was glad it was not more, or she would have suspected him of pity. The girl in red shoes would not come today after all, she supposed. A few clouds drifted across the sun, giving her some relief from the heat, but the humidity was unrelenting. Half an hour later, she went and took her afternoon break, crossing the road to the shade of the large trees. She would have based herself here, but compared to the station, the passers-by were few and far between. The regulars wouldn’t mind taking the detour, but it would not be enough to eat. She took off her cap to let her hair breathe, took many long gulps of water from the water fountain behind the building. Back to work.
At the end of the day she had fifty yen, less than usual, and the hunger in her stomach seemed almost alive the way it gnawed at her. She returned first to her quarters to be rid of her stool and toolbox, carefully this time, before going to the udon stall, and ordered her usual. Already she regretted the scratch and dent which had appeared in her toolbox from letting it fall upon the wooden floor that day. The stall owner was generous with her meat, and Bae slurped up the fried udon hungrily, chewing on the slivers of meat and the scallions and carrot slices. She burped, looked up, and almost jumped out of her stool when instead of the weary construction worker who had been sitting there, she found herself face to face with the red-shoed girl, who was glumly eating a bowl of udon in broth, taking a strand or so in her chopsticks and eating half a noodle each time, chewing slowly. Bae saw at once that she had been crying, and that the sleeves of her pretty pink dress were stained from blowing her nose and wiping her tears without a kerchief, and watching her, downcast, slumped in her stool, she, too, found hot tears streaming down her face into the oily bowl where the fried udon had been.
“Why are you-” the girl wasn’t crying now, but looked strangely at Bae. Her voice was strange, too, lovely and low, fuller than Bae had expected it to be.
“Sorry, I’m just, sorry, I shouldn’t, you looked so sad,” Sullyoon didn’t understand what was going on. Why was the boy crying? And his voice-
“Come on, let’s go somewhere else,” she muttered. The crying which had stopped at long last threatened to spill out again, and she didn’t want to attract attention. She practically dragged him (him?) along to a nearby alleyway, and waited for him to calm down.
“Sorry, miss, I was, it’s nothing,” Bae said, wiping her face with her coat sleeve awkwardly.
“No, it’s alright,” said Sullyoon, still wondering. Was his voice normally so high?
“If you don’t mind me, uh, asking, is anything the matter, miss?” Sullyoon laughed at how polite he (he?) was. Probably picked up from talking to his customers.
“It’s nothing,” she laughed, “well, it’s not nothing, just, it’ll take a long time to explain.” She started walking, and the shoe-shine boy with the girlish voice and girlish face followed. She went past the station, finding her way to the park, so that they could sit on one of the free benches, away from the noise, where it was cooler. In front of them the canal ran soft and silent, and behind them the line trees whispered in the breeze. She sighed and took the two hundred yen out of her purse. “Here. This is yours. It dropped out of your pocket while you were sleeping that day. I took it. I’m sorry.”
Bae was getting more and more confused now. The girl had picked up her two hundred yen? If so, why was she so sad? And why was she giving it back? She handed one of the notes to the girl.
“What are you-”
“For giving the money back, miss.” Sullyoon didn’t understand anymore, so she didn’t try. She took the money cautiously from the beaming boy, and pocketed it. The boy nodded, rolled his hundred yen up tight, and put it back into his pocket, making sure to stuff it in properly. They sat in silence for a while, and Sullyoon remembered his question.
“My boyfriend was cheating on me.”
“Cheating, miss?”
“He was kissing another girl.” Bae frowned as she said it. “We were supposed to meet up to see a movie, and he didn’t show up, and it turned out he was going with some other girl. They sat in front of me, you know, and kissed, with their t- with their tongues and everything.” She made it through the sentence, barely, not quite sure why she was telling all this to the boy. The boy, she only now realised, was staring at her with startlingly clear eyes, attentive eyes which were starting to glimmer over again with tears.
“I’m sorry.” His tone had grown informal, which pleased Sullyoon, somehow.
“It’s fine. Anyway, I got fired from the ‘Mercury’ last week, so, uh, thanks for the hundred yen, I suppose.”
“‘Mercury’?”
“It’s a, a bar with, uh, singing and dancing, in Ginza.”
“They fired you?”
“Yes. My English isn’t the best, so I wasn’t very popular with the customers, even though, I mean, and the other girls were jealous, of, of my looks.” She blushed as she said it, for some reason. “They broke a glass, or something, and said I did it. I don’t really think it matters what they broke, they just blamed me for it anyway. They took the price out of my pay, so I didn't even get the pay I was owed. Stupid, isn't it?” The boy was really going to cry all over again now. She felt faintly ridiculous at having to be the one to console him (him?).
“I'm fine,” he said with a watery smile. “That's really horrible of them. You should work somewhere with nicer people. And get a better boyfriend. Why are people so awful?”
“I'm awful too, you know,” she giggled despite herself, “I took your precious two hundred yen.”
“You gave it back, though?”
“I, I suppose I did. How did you get- I don't mean to pry,”
“Oh, it's nothing, a salaryman came and tossed them at me as payment for polishing his shoes. My usual price is fifteen, so I was over the moon.”
“He tossed them at you?”
“Yeah? I know for a fact I do a better job than those brats sitting in the shade, and he was feeling very generous, I suppose.”
“Why don't you sit in the shade with them?”
“They let me into the shade when it rains, it's fine.”
“Let you?”
“The middle one gave me a black eye and nearly broke my arm the last time I tried to-”
“He what?”
“I mean, it was fine in the end, it was worse over at-”
“Worse?”
Bae fell silent, and Sullyoon only stared into the dark shifting waters, and didn't probe any further. She shifted a little closer, closer to the smell of old sweat and shoe polish, wondering how long he had endured this life, how long more he would have to endure it.
“How about in winter?”
“I have a thicker coat.” His (his?) tone ended it at that, and Sullyoon felt that she didn’t want to know what he had left unsaid.
“I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know. For taking half of your money.”
“You didn’t take it, I gave it to you. For returning me the money.”
“But—”
“If you hadn’t picked it up, somebody else would have.”
“I, I suppose so.” They were silent for a long while, and Sullyoon was lost in thoughts of going up to Jun and slapping him, spying on them in Ginza, watching the popular cafés for them. Suddenly she noticed she could no longer smell his odour of sweat and shoe-polish, and looked up to find him gone from the bench. She had forgotten to ask for his name.
The sky was dark by the time Bae ran down the little alley near where she slept at night, to find the usual group of four or five in a wooden sort of shelter, lit by a lamp.
“Bae! You're late!”
“Sorry, sorry.” She didn't bother to make an excuse, and they would never pry in any case. The other boys were deep in their card game with rules she didn't bother to understand. The cards were an old stolen Nintendo pack from before the war, and the cards themselves were so worn out it was getting hard to see the numbers, and the queen of hearts had a splotch on the back which told everyone that Utaro was now holding it in his hand. No-one could be bothered to get another deck, anyway. The chairs and stools were all taken, so she sat in the dirt, and watched Hideo contemplate his next move in the dim light of the lamp. The rules had evolved haphazardly, from half-remembered rules of some game someone had been taught once, and by now bore no resemblance to anything else, much less the original game. Several more cards were played, in silence. Someone lit a cigarette, an orange glow which seemed small next to the glow of the lamp, and Bae coughed at the smell.
The cards were played onto a small stool in the centre of the circle, to stop them from getting dirty. Not that it mattered when years of grubby fingers had manhandled them, but it mattered to them.
“That's the last card. An eight. Eight cards next round.” The others nodded solemnly, and the deck was collected and shuffled anew. There had been a point system once upon a time, but after a day at work, most of them were too tired to keep track.
“How was your day?” A voice, Jiro’s.
“Not bad. Not good. It's really hot outside the station.” She had forgotten to make her voice low for the girl in the red shoes, she realised, and had not asked for her name, either.
“Are Otake and friends still not letting you in the shade?” She couldn't see Utaro’s face, but it sounded like he was frowning.
“No, but I'll manage.”
“You should come to Harajuku,” chided Hideo.
“And see your face all day?” Minoru and his gravelly, scraping voice. They laughed, Hideo included. He was a good sport, Hideo.
“Better than seeing Otake and his stupid face all day,” riposted Bae with venom.
“Want us to beat them up for you?” Jiro asked earnestly.
“Don't be silly, you've seen him and Taniguchi.”
Someone had a fit of coughing, probably Jiro, and they took turns slapping him on the back.
“Taniguchi’s nothing,” insisted Hideo, “I'd take him easily.”
Bae only laughed off his bravura. The others laughed, too, and the next round started, eight cards each. Jiro and Hideo both let her have their stool at the same time, and she refused, leaning herself against the uneven wall of the shed, listening to their murmurs in the warmth and dark. The game ended prematurely when Minoru started nodding off between turns and nearly fell off his chair, scattering his cards. They grumbled and scrabbled about for the cards, and Utaro unhooked the lamp to make a round of the shed for the six of diamonds, which finally turned up near Jiro’s stool leg, face up, the red of the ink dark in the lamplight. They all stayed in different directions, and Minoru took the lamp, which was his, but Hideo walked beside her until she got to where she would sleep. And they walked in silence past the noise of crying children and arguing couples. In a world where she liked boys, she might have fallen for him.
“Are you sure?”
“About what?”
“About the Otake thing. You could come to Harajuku. I’m serious.”
“No, Hide, we’ve discussed this. It’s better than-”
“Of course it’s better! That doesn’t mean you should stand for it, right?”
“It’s fine, Hide, really,” and she slipped into the door before he could say anything else. Her tiny window which wouldn’t close properly in winter looked out onto the alley behind the house, so she didn’t see him go.
---
Seol Yoon-ah (Sullyoon to her friends, mostly to Jun, and now mostly to herself), sat in silence on the bench, not really caring about the walk back to her place (barely a place, and even then she was behind on the rent) in the dark. Some of them knew her, even if she wasn’t a girl at the “Mercury” anymore, just a regular impoverished girl who hung around Ginza, eyeing the scraps of rich people, foreigners and rich foreigners. At length she got up, and walked slowly back to the Ueno station, where she would take the Ginza line. She glanced up at the clock, and the hour was not yet late. She wondered where the boy slept at night.
Bae had just finished her lunch, and waited for the girl whose name she still didn't know. Perhaps she would do more than wave and walk off, today.
“Hey!”
Bae jumped, and looked to see a fair-faced boy in front of- oh! The red-shoed girl (now brown-shoed) smiled down at her from below her cap, and how could someone be so breathtakingly beautiful, even in boy’s clothes? The clothes were, she noticed, rather loose and awkwardly fitted, perhaps her brother’s. Smiling, the boy (no, the girl) sat on the stool.
“I’m Yoon-ah, by the way, Seol Yoon-ah, but my friends call me Sullyoon.” Bae flushed with delight. Sullyoon. A pretty name. Sullyoon. She repeated it in her mind, Sullyoon, Sullyoon, as if it would slip away when she wasn’t looking, like her two hundred yen.
“My, my name’s Bae, just Bae.” She tried to make up a boyish name on the spot, but decided against it in the end. Hideo and the others had always called her Bae, had not even bothered asking her full name.
“Shine my shoes, please,” Sullyoon grinned, pushing her voice even lower than usual, and Bae went giddy with delight, or else it was the heat. She got to work, humming as she did, cleaning and polishing each shoe slowly, lovingly, never mind that they were a little loose, and the wrong shape for her feet altogether.
“That’s a nice song,” chuckled the girl, sending shivers down Bae’s spine. One day perhaps she would stop freezing up in delight at everything she did, but not today.
“I heard it outside a dance-hall the other day,” she said with inexplicable pride.
“It’s an old song, you know, from during the war. It’s a lovely song!” She added hastily, when she saw Bae’s face fall.
“What is it called?” Bae was curious now. She supposed that if she had worked at a bar, she would know all the latest songs better than she did.
“Ye-Lai-Shiang.”
“Ye-Rai what?”
“It’s, uh, a Chinese name, I think. I don’t really know, either,” she laughed, and Bae laughed too. She had not bothered to use her deep voice today, not when the girl already knew what she sounded like. She looked up now and then at the face below the cap, and smiled each time.
“There, all done!” She announced happily.
Sullyoon hopped off the stool, and bent down, pretending to inspect the shined shoes, but really she just wanted to get a better look at his face. His eyes were pale brown and clear, so clear that she forgot to pretend for a moment, staring at his face, her mouth slightly open.
“Sorry, is there, is there something wrong?” He mumbled, reaching for his handkerchief, flushing in embarrassment.
“No, nothing, sorry, it’s just- no, never mind.” She reached for the note, and handed it to him with both hands, one hundred good yen, with Itagaki Taisuke’s bearded figure on it, and ran off laughing before he realised what had just happened. Her face burned with how close his face had been, how lovely and clear his eyes had been.
Bae looked at the retreating figure of the boy, no, the girl, and shook her head, puzzled. She pocketed the note all the same, checking and double-checking that the other was still there in her pocket, rolled up in a piece of stray wire. The blazing sun was milder now, tempered by several large clouds which drifted slowly across the pale blue burning sky. The pavement still baked with heat nonetheless. A tossed coin told her that she had a customer, and she got to work, still humming the same tune.
“How is your singing?” The woman in the violet-coloured dress had an accent, Sullyoon couldn't tell where from. She knew they spoke differently in Osaka, but then they probably spoke differently in places like Fukuoka or Sendai, too. Was she from Osaka?
“It's, I don't know, I haven't sung in a club before.” The place was elegant, with a vaguely European charm which did not deign to scream it at the patrons like the Mercury did. Among the brown and dark brown, a lily glowed here and there in the wan indoor lights. She was glad she had gone back first to change into presentable clothes. She stood by the piano, and the woman, smiling, sat in a wooden chair, sipping at a glass of water.
“There's a first time for everything. Minari?”
“Yes, Satang?” Another woman peeked out from a door, and her voice was smooth, like jade.
“Sull, Sullyoon here saw our poster, and says she can sing. Play us a classic, will you?”
“Uh, I,” but it was too late, the woman named Minari had started already, playing an English song she didn’t know the words to. Sullyoon froze, unable to recall how the opening went, unable to get any notes out. Damn it, damn it damn it, she was going to, they were going to,
“Oh! You don’t speak English that well, do you? I’m so sorry!”
“You should’ve told me first, Sana.” The playing had stopped, and Mina sighed. She launched into the first bars of a jaunty song, something by Akatsuki Teruko which Sullyoon had at least practised. She found it surprisingly easy to keep time with Mina’s playing by watching her. Afterwards, she did not find out if they had liked it, since Mina launched into another song, by Takamine Whatsername, and Sullyoon found herself singing along to three or four more songs in a row. Mina made sure to vary the tempi and style, but Sullyoon found that she knew all of them. When Mina started on a severe enka for a man’s voice, Sullyoon started panicking again, but Sana told her to cut it out with a frown.
“What do you think, Mitang?”
“Pretty good, as an opener. She’ll get better with training.”
“Training?”
“Yes, Ms. Morrow comes every Tuesday. Don’t worry, she speaks Japanese,” Sana added hurriedly.
“So am I, I’m,”
“Hired, yes.” Her sigh of relief was only halfway past her lips when they dragged her to the back to meet the other girls. A round of introductions followed, and she was pleased that some of them knew her already as the pretty girl from the Mercury Club. They claimed that none of the others even came close to her looks, but perhaps they were just being kind.
Later that night, she did not see the quick exchange of glances which passed between Mina and Sana. She did not see Mina’s little smirk as she sat at the piano, did not see Sana’s glare as she caught the smirk on her lips, did not see Sana raise her eyebrows, as if daring Mina to do what she was about to do, did not see Mina relent with a pout. She only knew that her debut at the Mimosa Dance Hall and Club had been, as far as she could tell, a resounding success with the patrons. She couldn’t wait to tell Bae, that was his name, Bae. She smiled a small smile, wondering.
“Had a good day, Bae? You sound happy.” Minoru had the annoying habit of knowing her mood just from the way she said ‘hello’.
“Yeah, pretty good.”
“Saw a pretty girl?” She snorted. That was all Jiro could think about these days.
“He sees one every day. You should hear him go on about the red-shoed girl.”
“I've seen her around Ginza, on weekends. She's not that pretty, really,” said Hideo, without turning from his cards.
“Hey, take that back!” Bae surprised herself with the rancor which rose in her at Hideo’s betrayal. She swallowed, trying to push it back down.
“Relax, nobody's stealing her from you,” he laughed.
“Still, take that back. She's the prettiest girl in the world.”
“Fine, she is. I'm sorry, okay?” They laughed again, and went on with their game. She fumed quietly as they played, her mood thoroughly ruined now. She felt better thinking about her face below the cap, her voice, the way her fingers looked on her trouser sleeves, the way her lips hung slightly open as she looked at something or someone passing by. She didn't realise they had ended the game until Utaro called her name. Startled, she felt her cheeks redden, and ran all the way back to her quarters, still thinking about the way Sullyoon had looked at her in the afternoon.
---
The next day Sullyoon waltzed past her, smiling so brightly that Bae herself wanted to burst with joy. She sat on the stool, but instead of asking for a shine, handed her, conspiratorially, a bottle of coke which glistened with condensation, trickled with condensation where the larger drops had carved little paths through the smaller. With a pop of her little knife it opened, condensation curling from its mouth, and she poured a long sip into her mouth. It was sweet, terribly sweet, she thought but so wonderfully cold and strange on the tongue, that she only sat there, in the heat, for several long moments, marvelling. She let Sullyoon have a sip, then drank another mouthful, swallowing it slowly, preciously. Only after Sullyoon had waved a laughing goodbye did she realise that their lips had shared the same glass rim. She blushed furiously at the thought, but finished the bottle to the last drop all the same.
Afterward she washed the bottle in the water fountain, and brought it back with her to put beside her mattress. It was strange, seeing the gleaming fresh-washed glass next to the worn and fraying fabric. She giggled, softly, to not disturb the next partition over. The drunkard who had cussed her out that day for crying too loud had been kicked out, that was what they told her, and now it was another orphan she had not met yet. She wondered if Sullyoon knew her parents, wondered if they were well.
“A penny for your thoughts?” The grainy voice of Momo, star dancer and middle two letters of the Mimosa club, jolted her from her reverie. The faint sound of music floated into the dressing-room, and she imagined she could hear laughter, and voices.
“Oh, nothing, I was thinking, thinking of shining my shoes,” Sullyoon blurted out before her brain could come up with anything better.
“Shining your, your shoes?” Momo asked, nonplussed, as she patted on her makeup, lips slightly open in the mirror. Then again, Momo had a way of speaking which made one think she was slightly puzzled by everything.
“No, it's nothing. Is Tokyo Boogie-Woogie up next?” She looked past Momo at the electric lights, one per makeup chair, at the soft greens of the pouffes on the chairs, at the couches behind them, and was reassured by their presence.
“Y- yeah, and then, uh, what was it? Oh yes, I am an Egg-Seller from Minnesota.”
“You are?”
“No, I meant, uh, that's the dance name, the song name I meant,” stuttered Momo. Sullyoon thought it delightfully cute.
“Don't tease our Momoring, Sullyoon dear.” Sullyoon stiffened in her seat as Mina’s smooth voice (Minari, it turned out, was her nickname) tickled her ears from behind, and she walked over, placing a jewelled hand on Momo’s head. A single mint-green stone in a gold ring, elegant. “Oh, Minari, you're here,” said Momo.
“Uh-huh. I wish I could watch you on stage, but I have to deal with the Chieko business.”
“Chieko?” Sullyoon had not been introduced to her on the first day, but she had seen her around: a tall girl, taller than herself, with a severe look to her eyes. She had seemed tired the few times Sullyoon had seen her.
“Uh-huh.” Mina sighed, as if debating whether to tell her, which Sullyoon thought was a little bizarre. She would have gotten it from the other girls later, in any case. “They saw her kissing a girl, in the back alley behind the ‘Saturn’. Well, Masuko claims she saw them, and Chiemi says she was with Masuko, but, urgh, why am I even telling you all this?” Sullyoon raised her eyebrows in surprise. The ‘Saturn’ was a posh place, with chandeliers and things, and she had always felt small passing it by, though the doorman always waved and gave her a smile when she passed. Mina sat in a chair with a sigh, brushing her slim fingers against Momo’s ears, as if feeling out the shape of them.
“Stop that, it tickles.”
“Fine. I’ll see you around, Momoring, Yoon-ah. I have to talk to Chieko now.” Sullyoon relaxed in her chair as she left the room. She decided it was nice like this, in the space between her songs and her drinks duties, alone or almost alone in the dressing-room, before the others came to get ready.
“Scary, isn’t she?”
Sullyoon nodded hastily. Momo laughed, then frowned a little into the mirror when she saw how Sullyoon was seated. “Don’t sit like that, you’ll, well, it’s not good to sit like that,” she finished lamely, trying to figure out a reason, applying the finishing touches to her makeup. Sullyoon obliged, stifling a laugh, and made her pose more ladylike, keeping her legs close together, more like how she imagined Mina would sit. The next few dances would be Momo’s. “See you later, Yoon-ah.” She did not reply, already lost in thought.
Bae was having a good day. An excellent day, even. Sullyoon, the girl with the cherry-red shoes whose face now had a name to it, had not only passed by to talk to her in her usual dress and red shined shoes, but had slipped her a note along with the usual bottle of coke which told her to wait for her at the Ginza station at seven in the evening by the station clock. The few years of schooling at the orphanage and after had at least allowed her to read as much. Sullyoon had even written ‘Ginza’ out in hiragana beside the Chinese characters. She pocketed the slip of paper with a grin, not before pulling it out once more to look at the handwriting which made her ashamed of her own half-scrawl which she had never gotten to practice properly. Sullyoon had not needed to slip it to her like a secret message, but it felt more important that way, a deal done in secret, without anyone else knowing— not the boys in the shade, not her regular customers, not even Hideo and the others. She took another sip of the coca-cola. It wasn’t proper food, but the gas and the sweetness had to count for something. Her stomach growled again, as if rebelling against the idea.
Bae waited nervously at the exit, swaying from foot to foot. She had run back to clean her face of dirt and shoe-polish, to change into her less dilapidated suit, the one with fewer patches and holes in it, but had not had time to take a proper bath. Next to the elegance of Ginza and its perfumed men and women, she had to stick out like a sore thumb. She sniffed at her shirt every now and then, as if the stink of sweat and dirt which seemed to follow her everywhere would somehow go away if she put her nose to it enough times. Five minutes to the hour. At three minutes to seven, she was relieved of her misery by the sight of Sullyoon half-running to the station, her tied-up hair bouncing behind her, stray strands flitting in the breeze, and her smile immediately flooded her heart overfull, filled it to bursting, leaving no room for silly things like fraying clothes and body odour.
Sullyoon was nearly frantic now. The tenant down the hall had been in the washroom for half an hour now, and if she took much longer she would be late. She hadn’t wanted to take her chances with the station toilet, but perhaps she should have. She had chosen a plain dark blue skirt, something she would never have worn on a date with Jun. Would he like it? Was her perfume too strong? The running of the flush relieved her from her anxiety, and she rushed down the narrow corridor to the shared bathroom before anyone else could go in.
Out of the building, she made her way to the main street, looked at the towering clock-face, and saw to her relief that it was only three minutes to seven. She quickened her steps, half-running to the station, and the sight of the boy without his cap, his face freshly washed, his mouth curved into a shy smile almost made her stumble, short-circuited her brain, a word she had learnt when the power had gone out at ten p.m. yesterday at the club, flooded her brain with feelings she could not begin to understand, choked it full with joy, as if she was in love for the first time all over again, with the boy who had- no, there was no time to think about that now, she was greeting him shyly, and he laughed, and she laughed too, at something or the other, at anything. Where were they going today? Nowhere, she supposed, they were going nowhere, or they were going wherever the shop windows were pretty and filled with dresses or leather bags, or wherever there were pastel post-cards and and fine bamboo brushes which cost more than a month of her pay, and wherever in Ginza was pretty and exciting and elegant, which was everywhere.
Sullyoon picked up and uncapped a heavy metal-nibbed Western pen, and hurriedly recapped and put it down again when she saw its price. It had not escaped her notice that many disapproving looks were cast their way, or rather, at Bae, who seemed to have resigned himself to it. At least he seemed to be enjoying himself, looking at the colours of paper and at the decorated ink-stones and ink sticks with a sort of childish wonder which made Sullyoon smile. Now he turned over and over in his hands a post-card with cranes and what looked like plum blossoms, without noticing the frowns he was getting from a grey-uniformed attendant. He put it down, and picked another, this time with a single white flower in its centre, and looked at it for a long time before turning away.
“Did you see anything nice?”
“Lots, actually, but nothing I really wanted to buy. Did you see a nice postcard?”
“No, I mean, yes, but, it’s fine.” He was looking elsewhere, she realised, at the window, at the street outside the window, at the glows of windows of restaurants and clubs, at the tiny silhouettes of men and women in their glow. Sullyoon resisted the urge to grab his hand tight in her own. Later, when there were fewer people around. Her hand gently sought his arm all the same, and they went to the third floor, to look at the inks and paints.
Bae listened as Sullyoon talked about singing, about the scary Ms Myoui, the bubbly Ms Minatozaki, the slightly scatterbrained Ms Hirai, the vocal coach Ms Morrow, who had the loveliest voice Sullyoon had ever heard, about a world of glass and polished wood and dim lights which she could not imagine from the scraps of melodies and laughter she heard when she passed the glass doors and bright signs. Perhaps Sullyoon had noticed her wistful look, for she hurriedly decided to talk about something else.
When she saw the cranes, she had been reminded of something, she could not quite remember what. There had been a painting of cranes, she recalled suddenly, in the room, a bright spot in the old house. And flowers, pink cherry blossoms in the street in front of the house, and then large white blossoms she didn't know the name of, blinding white in the afternoon sun. Her last childhood memory was of a pale drawn figure, paler and thinner still in the afternoon light, her profile against the window flooded with petals which swayed with the wind, and sparrows. Bae liked to think that after lying so long in bed in the summer, she had simply been swallowed up by the sound of cicadas, asleep somewhere in the thick folds of their unending cry, buried deep in a whiteness of noise, thick and white as goose feathers.
Dinner a roadside stall out of the Ginza area, where they ate fried soba, seated on either side of a narrow table. The sound of and smell of frying filled the air, along with the slurping of noodles all around.
“Let’s do that again, some time.”
“Let's do it in the afternoon.
“Why?
“Why not?” Sullyoon frowned.
“I, I’d love too, but then I wouldn't be able to, uh, work, and, uh,” and he wouldn't get any money for dinner, Sullyoon realised. “I can rest for a day, though,” he added, suddenly resolute.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course! What should we do next time?”
“We, we could go to a nice café. My treat,” Sullyoon added hastily.
“But-”
“No buts.” Bae scrunched up his face, but nodded. Sullyoon gave in to the impulse which had been niggling at her since the stationery shop, and sought out Bae’s hand under the table. Bae widened his eyes, but only smiled, taking another mouthful of fried noodles. His hand was callused and rough, but small, smaller than Jun’s had been. They decided on a Monday, Sullyoon’s other free day, and Bae’s least lucrative day for shoe-shining.
Bae felt the hand holding hers give a small squeeze, and realised that today was the happiest day of her life. And that she would do this all over again just over a week later, on a Monday which couldn't come fast enough. The happiest day of her life, so far.
---
“Calpis?”
“It’s, it’s a yoghurt drink.”
“Yoghurt?”
“A little milky, a little sour, a little sweet? It’s nice.”
“Let’s get one, then.”
“A pear tart, too, and, I think you’d like these, uh, the croque monsieurs.”
“What?”
“It’s a French name. There’s, there’s ham in them, and cheese, and it’s served hot.”
“Oh!”
Sullyoon placed the order, ignoring for what felt like the millionth time the pointed stares of the waitress at the boy who sat facing her. She watched as Bae looked all around at the glasses and the pastries on display and the waitresses in their stiff uniforms, watched as he sniffed the air and took in the smells. He admired the glasses, admired the tablecloth for its whiteness, admired everything in turn, and then went back to looking at her, with those clear pale eyes which always make her heart throb at their gaze. She giggled, and he laughed, softly, too, with his hand over his mouth, more delicate than she had seen any boy laugh.
The Calpis came first, in a tall glass with two straws.
“This is it?”
“Mm-hmm!”
Bae, hesitant, leaned forward to take a sip at the same time she did, and for a moment their faces were so close her heart felt like it might burst. With the straw still in his mouth, Bae made a face, and booped her nose with his. He sat back with a long sigh, and she saw that he was grinning from ear to ear.
“Good?”
“That was good, yes,” he said cheekily, with yet another nose scrunch which made her blush to the tips of her ears. She made a face at him. She would be the one to make him blush like that, next time.
The tarts came, and Bae made sure to take small bites of each, to not make a mess of the pretty plates and tablecloths, resisting the urge to gobble each one up in a single bite which wouldn’t even fill her up. They ate half of each, and then swapped plates.
“-they said they saw her kissing a girl somewhere, but”
“Kissing a girl?” Bae’s stomach clenched, and it was not from the ice-cold Calpis.
“Mm-hmmm, but they didn't do anything to her, in the end.”
“They didn't, uh, fire her?”
“Of course not! Even Ms Myoui, that's the stern one, didn't say anything about it.”
Bae sighed a small sigh of relief. “She sounds nice.”
“She is, once you get to know her. She doesn’t shout, even when she’s angry, which makes her scarier.” They laughed again, but Bae was left with something tight in her stomach, and looked again at Sullyoon’s face to make it go away.
Afterward, when the two plates and glass were only left with crumbs and melted ice, she called the prim waitress who had been wrinkling her nose at her all afternoon over, and passed the two hundred yen in rolled up notes to her before Sullyoon could get a word in, sticking her tongue out at the other girl just as she reached for her wallet.
“Ow!”
“I told you, it’s my treat!”
“Too late. Come on, let’s go,” she said after taking the coins in change, practically pulling Sullyoon out of the door before she could say anything else.
The park was shady, and the light was yellowing. They had found an empty bench, and neither of them really wanted to go back to their quarters. Sullyoon had insisted on buying a bunch of chicken skewers and grilled rice balls for Bae to make up for it, and Bae, as usual, had insisted on sharing everything— except the gizzard and soft bone skewers, which he guarded preciously, like a hawk. The skewers eaten, Bae threw stones at nothing in particular until she ran out of stones within arm’s reach. Neither of them felt like talking much. Far away in the sky vast clouds towered, large and grey and white and bulbous, and the air and trees buzzed with cicadas.
Her head nuzzled up against Bae’s shoulder, Sullyoon wished the afternoon would go on forever. At least she would see him again tomorrow, when she went on her daily walk. She wished she could do something more for him, something more than coca-cola and dates which he ended up paying for anyway because he was such an idiot. She sighed, and decided she would ask around about, about apprenticeships with cobblers, perhaps. Preferably near Ginza, so that she could see him each day after his work. She still didn’t know his given name. And his voice, his hands- her heart thumped a little harder, but Bae didn’t seem to have noticed, and only started stroking her hair. She thought she could die of pleasure, there and then.
Bae wondered what she had done to deserve having Sullyoon’s head on her shoulder, the lush hair soft against her coat, along with the stray strands which tickled her cheek now and then. She laid a tentative hand on her head, and Sullyoon did not object. She continued, stroking her like she had seen the others stroke a stray cat which had been too well-groomed to really be a stray. Perhaps it had run away from its owners. Sullyoon purred, low and happy, and Bae wished the afternoon would go on forever.
Back in her tiny bedroom, Sullyoon was trying to ignore the shouting from just down the corridor. She thought of Bae again to distract herself, how he had slowly nibbled at the tart, cut tiny pieces of the sandwich, imitating her, how close their faces had been over the glass. She closed her eyes, and she was fourteen again, freshly orphaned by the fire bombings, trying to find something she could do for food in the vast sprawl of Tokyo, alone. He had said he was fifteen, and even now she felt that that, at least, had not been a lie. He was handsome, and he had taken her to the movies, to the cafés, had given her a place to sleep, and had taught her how to act like a lady, to not embarrass him when they went on dates.
It was strange, she thought, feeling it again now, the taste of first love, or something like first love, long after she thought she had forgotten it. Down the corridor, they were still screaming, and Sullyoon winced when she heard a dull, sickening thud. Another, and another. She huddled in the corner with her thin pillow wrapped about her head, waiting for it to stop, wishing Bae were here with his antics to tide her over the night.
---
It was raining on the Ueno station, on Tokyo, a thick mist of large droplets which covered everything in a veil of grey, leaving a sea of umbrellas which bobbed in the pattering grey. Even then, the wind whipped the drops of rain about, so that they stuck to the hair of men and women, caused strands and locks to cling to the sides of their heads, spattered onto their suits and dresses and left little dark stains which dried and made them shiver with cold. Now and then a particularly strong gust of wind would cause the umbrellas to adjust in a ripple, and the man or woman whose umbrella was tilted the wrong way would find themselves fighting the wind, soaked through by their moment of inattention. Bae, sitting by the pillar of the Ueno station, watched the splashing of shoes and boots in the puddles on the sidewalk, and the tyres of cars on the main road as they sent rushing sprays of water up on either side. The boots which splashed, the socks which were soaked through, the yellow boots which reached almost to the knees of the children, and even a pair of black boots which reached up past a flared dress, almost to the waist. If they came up to her, she would charge extra for the polish, she decided.
Finally, the red shoes, no, Sullyoon, the girl in her dress and coat and pretty red shoes exited the station and went up to her, and she smiled. She glanced over at Otake and his cronies, and giggled when she saw that they were glaring at her in jealousy. Well, too bad for them. Seol Yoon-ah, who was the prettiest girl in Ginza, in Tokyo, in the world, was paying attention to her, Bae Jinsol, and casting them dirty looks. They deserved more than dirty looks, really, but it was good enough for her. Today it was a bottle of something she discovered was hot chrysanthemum tea. She had spent yesterday cooped up in her partition, struggling through the worst of her monthly pains, and the rain and tea and Sullyoon were a welcome relief.
She gave the red shoes a quick wipe dry and polish, and used the excuse to chat. They spoke in low voices, which suited Bae, since she could use her normal voice. Sullyoon insisted on slipping her her fifteen yen afterwards. She made a face, but took the coins anyway.
“Where did you get the tea?” She took another sip, letting it warm her throat against the rain.
“I always pass by a Chinese herbal shop on the way here, so I decided to get some, it was so rainy.”
“Thank you. It’s so nice and warm. Did you get some for yourself?”
“No, they always have coffee and tea at the club.”
“Take care.” She watched as Sullyoon disappeared into the rain with her umbrella, on her way to the park. Another sip of the tea. Not too much, or she would have to use the station toilet later, and there was always someone in it. She supposed she could always use the man’s toilets in a pinch.
Umbrella in hand, Sullyoon entered the club. The staff umbrella stand was full, and she put hers in one of the customer stands, along with Setsuko's. Patting dry the droplets of rain from her face and neck and nape, she padded up the wooden stairs to the smooth panelled corridor. Even now, after several weeks, the dim corridor and kabuki prints made her nervous. The clock showed two, and she was early for Ms. Morrow's lesson, but several girls were already in the room when she entered, and several, she saw through the open door, were already gathered next door for the dance lessons, which were handled personally by Momo. Ms. Hirai, she corrected herself in her head, in case it slipped out in front of Mina, no, in front of Ms. Myoui again. Ms. Morrow, or Lily as she insisted they call her, greeted her with her lovely accented voice, and Sullyoon felt the gloom of the rain and looming corridor lessen a little.
A nice cup of tea before the afternoon shift started, for the patrons who had their afternoon tea at the café in front. They had found someone who made good pastries, it seemed, since the tables were never quite empty, even on slow days. There was tea in the staff-room, and coffee, and she helped herself to a large teacup. With all the tables set, she went to sit at the counter with Chiemi, wondering if they had remembered to change the water for the lilies. Outside, the windows whispered with rain, and she watched the raindrops drip, hoping she would not try to start a conversation.
A young man in western dress, a little rained on, with his date close behind him, entered, and Sullyoon went to take their orders. They were always pleasant to talk to, and today was no exception. They would stay for an hour, and leave at half-past five. Perhaps even later today, since it was raining. They never stayed until the first songs, which was a pity, since she would have liked them to hear her sing.
“Oh, Yoon-ah, Sana moved you to the ten o’clock slot.” Chiemi sniffed as she said it. The place was ready for dinner now, and with the tables set once more, they were having a quick dinner of their own of rice balls at the counter. Sullyoon wished she were paired with someone else today.
“Really?” She had not checked, and no-one had told her. Actually, Setsuko or Hisa or someone had mentioned it to her, but she thought she had misheard.
“Go and look at the notice board.”
Sullyoon went, and noticed that they were right, and that she had six songs instead of the usual five, all songs she had been practising. She smiled a little. Ms. Morrow had praised her today, too, for improving so quickly. Chewing her rice ball lightly, she went back to the small table.
“Aren’t you happy?” Chiemi narrowed her eyes a little as she said it.
“Yes, I mean, of course. I hope it’ll go well.” She kept munching on the rice ball, wondering what Chiemi would say next.
“I saw you and that grubby little boy on your date the other day, by the way,” she said, drawing the last three words out just a little, just enough to make them sink in. Sullyoon nearly choked on her mouthful of rice, but managed to chew it properly and swallow before answering.
“He isn’t grubby.” She tried to keep her calm, but her voice was strained. Why did it have to be her?
“He isn’t? I’ve seen him at Ueno, polishing shoes. Shoe-polish all over his face. He reeks of sweat, too, filthy little thing.” Sullyoon tried to take a sip of tea to calm herself, but her hands were trembling too violently to bring the cup to her lips. Chiemi was smirking now. How she hated her, how she abhorred her, the spiteful girl.
“So, so what if he is? Better than some bar-girls I knew at the ‘Mercury’, with poison all over their mouths— filthy little things.” Her voice quavered as she spat the last words out. She got up to make her escape to the lavatory before she could lose her temper and do anything else in front of the customers. In the lavatory she cried, as quietly as she could, sobbing softly, hoping nobody else would hear. She made sure to touch up her makeup before exiting, and gave Mitsue a tight smile and greeting as she passed her in the corridor. She could not tell if Chiemi had felt the rebuke, or if she was just gloating, but the rest of the shift passed in uneasy silence. All evening she waited for the summons by Mina or Sana, waited for the soft yet stern voice which would be the end of her time at the club, but no, there was nothing. She sang her songs, and the audience demanded an encore. Tokyo Shoe-Shine Boy it was, then.
Bae ran in the evening drizzle back to where she slept to unburden herself of her box and stool and the now-empty bottle of tea which she told herself she would find time to wash later, and then to the usual udon stall. The cooler weather made her even hungrier than usual, and she had seventy yen today. She made her way to where the rain pattered on the canvas which in turn dripped onto the road its dirty water, and ordered a kitsune udon, a bowl of hot soup which she had been looking forward to since the afternoon. The rain fell all around, and there was the smell of wet bodies, strange and musty, but she didn’t mind. Her dinner over, she ran to where the boys had their card game. The shed was well-protected from the rain, and nobody objected when she slipped past Utaro and Minoru into the deepest part of the shed. She watched the dripping, the lone street light and dim window-light in the soft half-rain. Minoru lit the lamp and hung it from the hook, and the droplets of rain were a fine mist in the lamp-light.
“Hello!” She said, still a little out of breath from running all the way. Here it was nice and warm, with the closeness of human bodies.
“Bae! Good to see you.”
“You too, Hideo.”
“Had a good day again?” Minoru half-laughed with his jagged voice.
“Great, actually.” She smiled at the memory of Otake’s glare when he saw Sullyoon talking to her.
“That’s good. Come on, Jiro, play a card, or pass.”
“Fine. I was about to play anyway. Idiot.” The rain was louder now, and she watched, entranced, their silhouettes in the lamp-light, against the fine droplets of the rain. It was nice and warm here, with the boys playing their cards, with the udon and soup in her belly. She smiled, and wondered if Sullyoon was watching the rain through the windows of the ‘Mimosa’.
---
It was not on the second or third date, but on the fourth, when the cat slipped out of the bag. Bae had wanted to see the shopping street with the tourists, with the Americans, and Sullyoon followed as she went about, looking at everything. There were dango stalls and clothes stalls and preserved plum stalls and pickle stalls, and Bae wanted to go around everything, find out what everything was. The day was warm, and Sullyoon was already sweating, even in the shade. They walked along, munching on dango, passing from the food to the clothes.
“Jiro!” The boy, Jiro, turned from where he was folding clothes at a rickety stall full of suits and ties. Wait. His voice-
“Oh, Bae! Taking the day off?”
“Yes, going out with Sullyoon here.” His voice, suddenly low and husky, almost as though-
“That’s good. You should take more days off, you know. It’s good for you.”
“Not if I want to eat!” Jiro looked a little crestfallen at this, but recovered, waving a cheery goodbye as they walked on. Even so, even, so—
Bae looked back at Sullyoon, who was staring at her. What? Sullyoon grinned, and went over to wrap her in a hug.
“You’re a girl, aren’t you?” She murmured by his ear. Bae stiffened, and Sullyoon could feel beneath his, no, beneath her coat her chest bindings. Sullyoon felt like crying, for some reason.
“Let’s go somewhere else. People are staring.” Bae’s voice was back to normal, just tinged with tears, or so it seemed to her. Sullyoon took hold of her hand, and led her down the main road, then into a narrow alley where the lights were dim. The rickety houses on either side were empty, and even the sound of the cicadas was muted here. Several times along the way she felt Bae try to pull her hand away, but she held firm, and squeezed it once or twice to comfort her. Even so, she felt like crying.
“I, I can, I’m-” her face, now without the cap, was so pretty, so handsome, so wonderful, and so terribly sad with the tears and sad puppy-eyes that Sullyoon could resist no longer the urge to kiss him, no, kiss her on the lips. Why had she not done it sooner?
Bae stiffened, her face bright red and hot all over, trying to process what had just happened, before letting it all go. Perhaps Sullyoon would hate her for pretending, perhaps Sullyoon would never speak to her again, but the lips on hers were too soft and too lovely to refuse, and she let herself bask in it, trying to figure out how to do it properly. In the end it came out a little messy, but Sullyoon’s wide gummy smile told her that she had not messed it up completely, at least.
“I-”
“Shhhh, or I'll kiss you again.”
“But-” Sullyoon made good her word, but at least Bae had been half-expecting it this time. She supposed that Sullyoon didn’t hate her, then. She learnt, imitating Sullyoon, how to gently move her lips and head, how to respond to Sullyoon’s movements in turn, and it seemed to be working, since Sullyoon let her keep going. When they finally broke apart, she decided that Sullyoon definitely didn’t hate her.
“But I'm, I'm a girl,”
“So?”
“Will you, uh, get in trouble?” At this Sullyoon pulled back, and frowned.
“In trouble?”
“With, uh, your club,”
“Oh! I don't think so,” said Sullyoon, visibly loosening with relief. “I’m almost certain the owners are, uh, into girls themselves.” Bae raised her eyebrows, and they both laughed. God, his, no, her eyes were so pretty, and her hair was so lovely, if only she would let it grow out properly. She resisted the urge to kiss him, kiss her yet again. The alley was growing dark, and they hurried out to the street, hand in hand. Perhaps it would rain again tomorrow, or perhaps it would be sunny. It didn’t matter, as long as she could see her again, every day, forever.
---
“Don’t turn around just yet!” Bae fastened up the tartan dress and made sure everything was in place before putting on the black shoes. Just the right size.
“Now?”
“Now,” she breathed as she looked herself in the mirror by Sullyoon's bed. Sullyoon jumped up from the bed, turned around, and could not contain her gasp at Bae in her bob and dress and shoes, all new from the department store. They had gone last week, and Sullyoon had let her pick them out without showing her, and insisted on paying for everything. If she skimped on lunch this month, she would have enough left for rent— and it was worth it, seeing Bae so splendidly dressed, so near and dear and huggable and kissable. Not just yet, for she liked saving the best for last.
Bae could not remember the last time she had gone out in so few layers in summer, with her chest unbound. She loved it, and she loved the checked red and dark red of the tartan, loved the shiny black shoes, and the beret which Sullyoon insisted on putting on her head. Sullyoon had talked about trying to get her apprenticed somewhere, to a cobbler, perhaps, but she didn’t know if they took girls, didn’t know if she was too old to start. To-morrow it would be back to the Ueno station again, out in the hot sun, but today, at least, she could feel like herself. She followed Sullyoon as she bought their tickets to the train to Ginza, followed her onto the train crowded with men and women who smiled at her, wondering at the two pretty girls on the train in the evening. Today’s date had been Sullyoon's idea: a dance hall where she knew the owner well enough that he would let her in for free. A dance hall! Bae imagined the music, brash and lively, or else slow and romantic, no longer heard through the doors and windows of places she could not enter. Slow and romantic would be nice.
They had gotten off the train now, making their way into the crowded street, and Bae realised she had forgotten how different it felt when the clerks at the storefronts greeted her pleasantly. Nobody looked at her with disdain or pity, and nobody crinkled their nose and scooted away when she got too close. Better still, in front of her was Sullyoon in her pink dress and red shoes, and they were on the way to the dance hall, and the street of lamps and lights was lively. She imagined dim lights and glinting glasses, and glasses of wine or whiskey. She would take Sullyoon's hand, and lead her onto the dance floor, she supposed. She would hold her little waist in her arms, she would spin and clack her brand-new shoes just so, and then perhaps, if the mood was right, just right, if everything went well, perhaps-
“We’re here! Come on! Oh, Mr Takeshita, I’m bringing my friend here, it’s her first time in a dance hall, and, well. Really, she can? Thank you so much!”
Grinning from ear to ear, Bae followed her into the warm and dim and violins of the dance hall, and closed the door behind her.