Everything Belongs to Us Page 14

  Sunam had assumed Min had forgotten about him and was caught off guard by the question. Managing to gather his composure, he said, “I’ve played a few games.”

  Min put down his stone with a decisive clack. “I’ll play him. H.G., get up.”

  “What, already?” H.G. said. The game had barely covered a third of the board.

  “You lost.”

  “How did I lose?”

  “Just think about it. You’ll see. Get up.” Min cleared the board, separating white from black with flicks of his finger. The stones scuttled across the wooden surface, knocking into one another.

  “We barely started,” H.G. whined. “How can you possibly know you won?”

  Sunam knew the most talented players could read ahead dozens of moves. The legendary Cho Hun Hyun had once claimed that he could read thirty-nine steps in advance. As a young player, Sunam had loved to deploy swift attack moves to intimidate his opponent and had never developed the patience to build up slow, effective formations. So he was not the best reader of future plays, but even if Min was exceptionally intuitive, it was impossible to foretell the rest of the game so early. No one doubted that Ahn’s son would have won in the end—but how H.G. might lose was still up to him.

  Sunam was ready to play, though. It was an opportunity to grab Min’s attention, and he was not about to waste it.

  The stronger player always took white. In light of Min’s seniority, Sunam picked black, even though he knew he was the stronger player. Min was an intelligent, competent player with some clever moves—but he didn’t have Sunam’s experience or training. Still, at a time like this, when it was more about social hierarchy than about objective mastery of the game, it was the right gesture to yield the white stones. Min started in the upper-right corner, moving quickly the way he had with H.G. He seemed relaxed and focused, setting up territories without looking at Sunam, as if he were playing against an invisible opponent.

  He was building a simple ladder, easy to break. Sunam knew it was probably a test, to gauge his skill level. If he crushed it, then Min might surge forward and quickly expose Sunam’s weakness. It was better to head it off slowly. Break the ladder, but don’t be flashy. Flashy got people’s attention and gave away information. Then, while you were busy gloating, you’d be scooped in three different ways.

  Sunam broke the ladder and played a new corner. He wondered how many moves Min had already predicted. Sunam didn’t always know his own plan, but did his opponent? Was there something his game betrayed that he hadn’t yet detected about himself?

  They played steadily, building out from their corners, creating decoy territories to sacrifice later. Each time Sunam invaded one of Min’s carefully crafted frameworks, the older boy gave a small grunt of recognition, as if the pain of losing ground were counterbalanced by the pleasure of a skillful attack. Sunam forgot his earlier resolve to stay back and try to read his opponent. He played his usual aggressive game, forcing Min on the run. The board filled up quickly. The sequence of stones hitting and sliding onto wood created a predictable rhythm with rare lapses. By the end of the game, Sunam had enclosed more area, but Min had displayed greater ingenuity, playing cool reduction tactics tailored to Sunam’s style.

  When Min stood up, Sunam did, too. The older boy smiled and stuck out his hand. “Excellent game. It was a pleasure.”

  “But you haven’t lost yet,” Sunam said. Realizing his gaffe, he tried to recover. He blurted, “The great Edward Lasker once said the rules of baduk are so elegant, if aliens exist, they probably play.”

  “Don’t know about aliens, but you’re good. Probably the best I’ve seen in a while.” When Min laughed, his face opened. He laughed not just with his mouth, but with his eyes and shoulders, his whole body telegraphing warmth. In that moment, it was as if they were on the same level. It seemed possible they could become friends and, in due time, old friends. Sunam desperately wanted this. Not only to become Min’s friend, but to be the kind of person who could merit his long-term approval. Suddenly he had a flash of intuition. This was the moment he could take control of his future. He had already earned Min’s respect. All he had to do was show that he was more than just a good baduk player; he had to prove he was someone worth knowing. Clear-eyed, not intimidated—not scared—like the others.

  “You could be really good too,” Sunam said. He had been impressed by Min’s tenacity and levelheadedness. There had been a few moves that had struck Sunam as genuinely original, surprising. “They say the best players aren’t just born with the gift; they use what they have, they adapt. Some players can take a minor talent and really become huge. The secret is figuring out how to hide your weaknesses.”

  “ ‘Minor talent.’ Like me, you mean,” Min said pleasantly. Someone in the room snorted, but Sunam ignored it. Naturally, he couldn’t reveal the highlights of his tournament history without seeming boastful—but he wanted to encourage Min. Let him know he had played well and could become even better if he tried.

  “You have the talent,” Sunam said generously. Of course it occurred to him that he might seem inappropriate and patronizing, praising a sunbae in this way as if he were the elder of the two. But surely someone of Min’s stature wouldn’t see it that way. He would know that Sunam was offering a genuine compliment. A guy like that who was on top of the world was probably allergic to flattery. If anything, Sunam should worry about laying it on too thick.

  “Of course, in your case, you don’t have any flaws to hide,” said Min, crossing his arms. His pushed-up sleeves revealed thick forearm muscles threaded with veins.

  “Sure I do! For example, I’m impetuous, I don’t see my own gaps—” As he rattled off a complete litany of his flaws, Sunam privately congratulated himself for being so humble.

  “But you see them now, right?” Min interrupted.

  Juno was making sharp throat-slitting gestures, and everyone, even Min, had turned to look. With a sickening gut lurch, Sunam realized that the room had fallen unnaturally quiet and must have been for quite some time. He had allowed himself to go on, mistaking the hush for admiration, drunk with the surprise of his own success. But this wasn’t a baduk tournament. This wasn’t even a normal party where he was expected to enjoy himself as a guest. This was an event where his express function was to ingratiate himself, to be the butt of the joke. Juno had already made that clear, and he had foolishly ignored it, believing that he could prove his sunbae wrong and achieve what he had done by impressing Min and skipping up the ladder with one giant step.

  Sunam had miscalculated completely. When he looked to Juno for help, he was as blank as a Buddha.

  “But you see them now, right?” Min repeated. This simple question, repeated by someone who had moments ago seemed friendly, had a terrifying edge. Now he understood how powerful Min was, how he could command the full silence of the room and take down anyone mercilessly over a tiny misstep. Sunam was afraid to speak, afraid to take in more than the very minimum of air.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, I see them now.”

  “The great lessons of baduk are for people who live in their heads,” Min said in a cruel, sarcastic voice. “The rest of us prefer the real world. Far more rewarding, I find. Anyway, good game.” After thumping Sunam heavily on his shoulder, he pushed through the narrow space between the couch and the table and walked out of the room.

  Sunam tried to pretend it had been a natural exit, that the hand on his shoulder had been a friendly one, but it was impossible not to notice how the room reorganized after Min left. People who had been avidly watching drifted away in search of someone else to flatter—or bully. H.G., who had probably never let a silent minute pass in his life, maniacally chewed a red plastic straw and didn’t say a word. Even Juno seemed ill at ease, nursing his drink with a grim expression. By the time Sunam had gathered himself and thought to ask for advice—should he find Min and apologize? should he laugh it off?—Juno was gone.

  Fi
nally, to give himself something to do, Sunam got up and poured a generous drink from the heavy decanter at the bar. The amber liquid sloshed nearly to the top of the gold-banded glass. He was unfamiliar with whiskey or whatever this was; he licked his fingers where it had spilled. His tongue burned in a way that was not entirely pleasant, but the heft of the glass calmed him. Sunam took a deep swallow and, trying not to choke, walked himself through a different door from the one he’d entered. He would try to acquire the taste.

  —

  AT THE END of the long driveway, he couldn’t find the mechanism to unlock the gate. On the way in, there’d been an intercom, but whom did you call to let you out? There must be some kind of release key or dial pad, but Sunam could see only what the path lights illuminated. Shaded lanterns produced small golden circles and disorienting shadows. Fine gravel amplified every footstep. He kept picking up sounds—wind, probably—that made him jumpy, thinking someone was near. And he had managed that first whiskey, followed by a quick second.

  Sunam shook the gate hard, rattling the lock. “How does this thing open,” he muttered. He was just about to try climbing when he heard a female voice behind him.

  “Give it a good kick, why don’t you?”

  Gears whirred softly, opening the gate. Spotlights clicked on, but he didn’t need them to know who it was. It was the strange girl from the party. He recognized the dense timbre of her voice, that unmistakable mocking tone. She stood gloating at what he now saw was a camouflaged control box. She wasn’t alone. There was Namin, black glove raised against the glare.

  The strange girl zigzagged across the gravel, ostentatiously drunk, waving the arms of her huge sweater. She lurched into him and he had no choice but to catch her. “Hope you had a very, very good time. Name’s Jisun. Did we do that earlier? Do I know your name?” Her soju breath was unbearable even in the brisk air. She briefly steadied herself, then sprawled giggling to the ground. She lay on her back kicking up stones, rolling over the gravel as if the tiny, cold shards were summer grass. “Namin here said I needed a bit of fresh air. She thinks I might be a little drunk,” Jisun said in a raspy fake whisper. She sat up and looked at Sunam. “Then we heard you making such a ruckus—thought we were being invaded by North Korean spies! That would have been a bit of excitement, wouldn’t it? Though I suppose real spies wouldn’t be so clumsy. What were you doing, anyway?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Namin, this is the new guy. New Guy, he’s so impressed with everything.”

  “Name’s Sunam,” he said, to save Namin the embarrassment of explaining how they’d already met. Not that she seemed to require any rescue. Of the three, he was the only one who appeared at all flustered.

  “Shouldn’t he be impressed?” Namin wore a red coat, and her hair was tucked into the collar, her silhouette as sleek as a marble statue. He could tell even in this darkness how shiny her hair was, how alive. Her breath rose in puffs as she looked back at the house. “Look at it, it looks just like a stack of mon—”

  “Don’t say it,” Jisun warned. “You know how I hate it when you say that.” She took hold of Namin’s hand and pulled her to the ground. “Don’t be such a grump,” she said. “Lie down, it’s fun. You can see all the stars. You can see the crown of Cassiopeia and the bear-y thing.”

  Sunam looked up through the trees, but he couldn’t see anything.

  “I worship this lady,” Jisun declared. “This is a lady of true virtue and devotion. Do you know we’ve been friends twenty years? And I have worshipped her every single day.”

  “Twenty years?” Sunam asked. He had an early birthday and had just turned nineteen. Weren’t they all the same age? He felt suddenly unsure of his own age, as if time had rapidly unspooled here in this dark driveway.

  “She has trouble counting. That’s why she thinks she’s only had one drink,” said Namin, not looking at him. It was awkward to be standing over them, Jisun spread-eagle on the ground and Namin crouched unwillingly at her feet. Unlike her earlier demeanor, which had seemed supernaturally relaxed, even playful, every move Namin now made seemed entirely utilitarian and hard. It seemed she would have liked to fold up the other girl, pack her up in a box, and haul her up to the house.

  “This is a woman with exquisite scientific perception,” Jisun said. “The great physician of our generation.” She kicked up another toeful of gravel at Namin. “But not without the curse of malice.”

  Namin said to him, “Help me. Take her hand.”

  Together they yanked Jisun up. Namin took one side and he took the other, draping her arm around his waist to keep her steady. He had been careful to keep his distance while she was on the ground, but now he allowed himself to be used as a crutch. She was a girl and he was a piece of furniture. With each step, the warm arm around his waist flopped. He had to hold her hand clamped to his side.

  “Tell me, I’m truly interested.” Jisun dragged her feet and turned her face up to his. “Why are you here? To get rich? To buy a house like this?” She stopped short and clapped her hands, which were entombed in the enormous sweater. “Eureka, Namin! He wants to have a gate he can’t open.”

  “At least he’s allowed to leave if he wants,” muttered Namin, pushing her hair out of her face. “Can we focus on getting back? This is another reason you shouldn’t drink. You have no idea how much time you waste. I know you don’t care, but I do.”

  “Malice,” said Jisun. “A very destructive streak. But don’t let that fool you, Sunam,” she said. “This one has a tender heart, I think I saw it one time. Once? Maybe it was twice….

  “But this one—I think he may be in it for the glory,” said Jisun. “He’s a clever one, this guy. He’s got the light, Namin. He’s got the hungry eyes.”

  Sunam let go of her arm. She stumbled but didn’t fall. “Why are you here?” he asked. Then, deciding he didn’t care, he said, “Never mind. Thanks for getting the gate open. Your friend can help you from here.”

  “Why am I here?” Her lips were twitching as if she might cry, but instead she broke into a hooting laugh that rang out too loudly in the night. He winced, even though there was no one to hear. “A very, very, very good question requiring a proper answer. The very good answer is: It’s my house. Well, it’s my father’s house. I don’t really live here, except when I’m in jail. Then I live here, enjoying the full protection of a tyrant.”

  Her father’s house?

  Sunam laughed. “Right. You’re Ahn Kiyu’s daughter. That makes me the president’s son. Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Go on, Namin. Tell him,” Jisun said. “Tell him I’m not lying.”

  “I’m not your secretary,” Namin said. “Tell him yourself.”

  “As my friend, Namin. Tell him as my friend. Anyway, I did tell him myself, but he doesn’t seem to believe me.”

  “She’s not lying,” Namin said flatly. “Now can we go inside?”

  This was Ahn’s daughter? That made her Min’s sister….

  “I would have gone to jail,” Jisun insisted. “They didn’t let me. You know what they said?”

  “Jail? What jail?” he said. He felt as if he’d stumbled into a dream. Maybe he had fallen asleep. Maybe he was more drunk than he realized. Suddenly the whisper of the trees was a howl, dragging across his consciousness like a rasp. The call of the night birds seemed to erupt in piercing cacophony. He swayed slightly on the balls of his feet, his body testing the pull of gravity. But the ground was solid, nothing odd or unnatural about it, and the cold air felt bracingly real against his cheek. It was never cold in dreams, was it?

  Jisun was oblivious to his astonishment. “Did you hear about the Mun-A strike? They took all of us away. But they threw me back like a bad fish.”

  “The Mun-A strike? You?” The facts were piling up too fast, and he needed time to understand. If Sunam could have asked for a pen and paper, he would have sat down then and there to work out what was becoming an inevitable equation. If Jisun was really Min’s sister, and if she was at the Mun-A strike,
where he had been with Juno—then wasn’t it possible, wasn’t it likely, that she was the girl they’d gone to watch? And yet, it just didn’t add up. This was the girl Juno had his eye on? Her? He remembered how she’d made a pointed exit when she saw Juno coming—and how Juno had put off his questions. Who? Her? Don’t worry about it.

  “What were you doing there?” he asked.

  “Striking, of course,” Jisun said. “But listen! You’re missing the point. I’m trying to say something, New Guy. They wouldn’t let me stay, do you understand? Do you know how humiliating that is? When all your colleagues think you’re abandoning the cause? Just like that, like it never mattered to you at all—”

  “I don’t understand. Who wouldn’t let you stay?” Sunam looked over his shoulder. The new guy who’s so impressed with everything. Was Juno here? Was Min? He was exhilarated by the information—and hopelessly confused. He wanted to lie down, close his eyes, and sleep. Right here, under the heavy boughs of the centuries-old trees.

  “The cops!” Jisun said. “The cops. They took me in and kicked me out.”

  Sunam dragged a hand over his eyes. Namin said, “Just let her talk and don’t ask questions. It takes longer if you ask.”

  “This is what they said. Didn’t I have plenty of rights already? Couldn’t I have some other hobby? It embarrassed them when they found out who I am. Made them look bad.”

  “But she was really there? At the Mun-A strike?” Sunam asked Namin.

  “But they wouldn’t keep me—”

  “Of course they can’t,” Namin interrupted, her voice rising. “They can’t just treat you like you’re anybody else. Can’t you understand that?”

  “But I am anybody else!”

  Namin looked at her. “You get away with most things, but you can’t just make things up to suit you. Facts are facts.”

  Jisun grabbed his arm. “New Guy. Do you see? This is what I was talking about. Malice. This one, she could cut glass, diamonds, with her tongue. She never lets me win, not the tiniest point. Not once.”