Korean Kisses.
By Paul Karrer
Our daughter is a tiggie (rhymes with biggie). She is biracial American-Asian. Stripped to its essence, Tiggie is a Korean word meaning nonperson, animal, or mixed-race. It is vilely disparaging and has the same value as the n-word.. That anyone could hate my child because of her gene pool is beyond me.
Eighteen months after our daughter’s birth, my wife, Mi-Ra, and I decided it was high time for her to mend the family fence and go back to Korea. We had, after all, eloped and brought a “tiggie” into the world. Would the two of them be accepted? I could not make it back with them because of my teaching job. I wanted to protect our daughter from what Mi-Ra and I had suffered in Korea. But even in multicultural California, things had not turned out too well for the three of us.
Monterey, California, harbors a world-class bay and Steinbeck’s Cannery Row, but even near flowing tides of opulence, ignorance can run deeper than the submarine canyons hidden below the choppy waves. In an Asian store, Mi-Ra had our daughter bundled on her back, Korean style, allowing freedom of movement for the mother. Mi-Ra politely waited in line to check out a twenty-pound bag of brown rice. She smiled with rosy cheeks, basking in the glow of contented motherhood. However two ancient Korean grandmothers shuffled behind her, stopped, and whispered, “Tiggie, tiggie, tiggie.” A shattered Mi-Ra later related this to me with a darkened soul.
This is in the USA, my God, what will happen to the two of them in Korea? I thought. It made me reflect upon our own many Korean incidents in the years we lived on Cheju Island in Korea.. But the worst of it was Mi-Ra’s family. Her father had died long ago, and her five brothers ruled the roost. Once, her third brother had spotted us together. No one knew we dated, I had thought. The next day I couldn’t recognize Mira. Her lovely head approximated the size of a pumpkin. A bruise the color of a ripe plum underlined her left eye. She walked with pain.
“What happened?”
“Bus accident,” she lied.
“Did you go to the hospital?”
“Yes. Many people did.” She had lied again.
Years later, she spilled the beans, but only after that brother had had a stroke. Her brother had seen us together in the town market. He figured she’d dishonor the family by getting pregnant. Then the White devil would abandon her like so many had done during the Korean War. Then she’d have a tiggie. So, he beat the snot out of her, kicking her in the stomach and pummeling her face. Now she was returning home . . . with a tiggie. So, I was worried.
•••
The phone connection wasn’t that good. It crackled, and a time delay didn’t help. But I didn’t care. “How was the flight to Korea?” I asked as the acids in my stomach stormed.
“Long.”
“How did [our girl] do?”
“OK, but she has a cold, I think.”
I couldn’t stand it anymore. “So, what’s your family’s reaction? What did your mom say?”
“They think [she] is beautiful.” Mi-Ra’s voice was calm, and I almost believed her.
“You’re not lying this time?” I asked.
“No, I swear by the gods.”
That was good. I swear by the gods. That was our private code. It meant the statement made was a truth to be believed at all costs.
“By the gods?”
“Yes, by the gods. My mother is holding her now.”
“What about wing nut number three brother?”
“He has apologized many times. He bought [her] lots of presents. A gold bracelet and a gold ring. Korean twenty-four-karat gold, not American eighteen karat,” she added. “He cried.”
“I still think he’s a bonehead, and I want to kick him in the head.”
“Since his stroke, he can’t walk anymore. These are not good thoughts.”
“What else is going on?” I asked.
“Oh, you will like this. I walked in the market today with our daughter strapped on my back, and a street shoe vendor begged me to leave her with him.”
“Why?”
“He said she is so beautiful that people would stop to praise her and buy many shoes from him.”
“Hmm . . . I’ll call you in a few days. Saranghae [love you]. Give Daughter a kiss for me. Say hi to your mom.”
“OK, saranghae. Call in three days.”
•••
Three days later the connection was a little better, no crackling, but still a time delay echoed.
“So, how’s our Daughter?”
“She has a cold, but a funny thing happened because of that.”
“She’s sick, and a funny thing happened?”
“Yes, listen. . . . Yesterday, I took her to the market strapped on my back. She sniffled and sneezed. I felt a strange movement and turned around quickly. A young businessman had a tissue, and he was trying to clean Daughter’s nose. He turned bright red when I caught him. I think things are changing here.”
“A businessman, huh. You’re not drinking maekju, are you?”
“No,” she said. “Oh . . . here is another one. Today a group of high school girls kept on following Daughter and me from a distance. Finally, one of them ran up. ‘Here, auntie, we bought a bag of candy for your beautiful baby.’ They all smiled and ran away.”
“You aren’t making this all up to make me feel good?” I asked.
“It is all true. I can’t make it up.”
“Mi-Ra, I’ll call in three days. Same time. Saranghae.”
•••
The connection was great. Not even a delay.
“Mi-Ra, how’s things?”
“I think I’m going to cry.”
The blood rushed to my face, and a quick nausea nailed me.
“To heck with Korea! Come home now!”
“No,” she whispered. “No, it is good. Daughter and I were in the market for a long time. I was really busy. After three or four hours of shopping, I went home. [She] sleeps most of the time when I shop. When I took her home, I unstrapped [her], and I saw it.”
“You saw what?”
“A kiss.”
“A kiss? How can you see a kiss?”
“A red-lipstick kiss. Somebody in the market kissed her. I don’t know who.”
I was quiet for a while. “You want to stay longer, huh?”
“Can we? My mother is very old now. Your tiggie is safe.”
“I suppose. I’ll call you in three days. Saranghae, you two. Hi to your mom,” I said.
“Saranghae,” she replied.
“Mi-Ra . . . say hi to that bonehead brother, too.”
•••
