Suki Kim - The Interpreter

She had no idea when he would be back. No postcard, no phone call. Somehow she knew that he would not get in touch, but she still waited. With each day, she was becoming less certain whether he had indeed made love to her, whether any of it had actually happened. But then she would recall how he had kissed her, in such quiet steps, until he was sure she was ready. It was embarrassing, how clearly the picture came back to her. She could recall his every breath. Her body held him intact. It was all in her body. She threw herself into her thesis instead. She would stare at the computer screen without seeing a word. She would replay Ran without remembering a scene. “First-class asshole,” Jen said, wincing, when she finally told her. “But, Suzy, you’re not any better.”

Two months later, in January, Suzy ran into him on Broadway. She was on her way to buy books for the new semester. It was the first time she had left her dormitory room in days. She was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. An oversized blue hooded sweatshirt with “Columbia Crew” on its front. It had belonged to Jen. Suzy had thrown it on because it was the first thing she saw hanging across the chair. She was turning the corner at 114th Street. He was leaning over a stall of books outside the shop. It was him. She knew even before she saw his face. She felt something slip inside her. Her breath caught in her throat. She thought of her silly sweatshirt.

“Hi,” she said first. His eyes looked pained, she thought, neither surprised nor overjoyed by this chance. “Looking for books?” She tried to smile, although her face felt stuck, every muscle suddenly locked. She was afraid that she looked obvious.

He continued to gaze at her. His eyes still cold. She wished she had worn something else. “You look thinner,” he said finally, his right hand moving up slightly, as though it was about to reach her face.

“The thesis…” she stammered, unable to think of anything else to say. There were silver sparkles in his dark-brown hair which she had not noticed before. Neither spoke, although neither looked away. She wanted him to say something. She wanted him to explain why he had gone away so abruptly, why he had not been in touch. But she also knew that he had promised her nothing. He owed her no explanation.

“Come,” he said then. He took out a piece of paper and wrote something on it and handed it to her. His hand barely touched hers. It was an address. A downtown address. He was already hailing a cab. “Come stay with me for a while,” she thought she heard him say, but the cab was already speeding away. He did not turn around once.

Three days later, when Suzy rang the buzzer of the three-story brownstone on Hudson Street, it was Professor Tamiko who answered. Neither had expected the other. It was Yuki Tamiko who broke the awkward silence. “May I help you?”

Suzy just stood there, not knowing how to respond. She wanted to turn back. She felt caught, guilty, humiliated, all at once. She had never expected this.

“Here to see Damian?” Professor Tamiko asked, with an edged smile, as if she finally understood. This girl. This young girl in front of her.

Suzy nodded, feeling stupid more than anything.

“Come in; he won’t be back for a while.” Professor Tamiko moved away from the door, her eyes quickly taking in the suitcase in Suzy’s right hand.

“I am… I didn’t… I can come back another time.” Suzy had never expected to see her. She simply never thought about her. Here she stood with a suitcase that contained her life, and yet she never considered Professor Tamiko in relation to Damian. She had made the first move. It was she who had asked him to make love to her. She had even lost her virginity on this woman’s bed.

“Don’t look so frightened. You’re obviously not a child if you’ve come this far.” Professor Tamiko sat on the sofa, crossing her legs, her long slim legs, shimmering in off-black silk tights. Suzy stood still. She felt confused. She was not sure what she should do, or say.

“Come in, for God’s sake.” Professor Tamiko shot a quick glance at Suzy at the door. “I’ll be leaving soon anyway.”

Suzy put her suitcase down at the door and walked in. She did not know where to sit, although she did not want to keep on standing either. Her legs felt as if they would collapse any minute, as did the rest of her. She finally slouched in the love seat, which was farthest from where Professor Tamiko was sitting.

“A drink?” Professor Tamiko got up and walked toward the kitchen. She seemed to be familiar with the place. She seemed to be wanting to move away from the younger woman.

“No, thank you,” Suzy answered in a near whisper.

Professor Tamiko poured herself a glass of water. For a second, Suzy was afraid that the older woman would offer her something heavy. Whiskey would make sense.

“How’s your Cordelia?”

The question caught her by surprise. Suzy had hoped that she wouldn’t remember—Professor Tamiko had over a hundred students. But women like Yuki Tamiko remembered everything. Suzy remained silent. She had made virtually no progress on her thesis.

“I guess you’ve been busy.” Professor Tamiko took a quick sip, as though she regretted the remark, which came off sounding almost bitter. Then she asked, facing Suzy from across the room, “Tell me one thing, why do you think he asked you here?”

Suzy avoided her eyes, uncertain what she was driving at. He had asked her to come. He had not told her when. He had not even given her the phone number. She had assumed that the downtown address was his own, a sort of place apart from his wife, where Suzy could drop in without calling ahead or making a special arrangement. Such an illicit suggestion, strangely, did not scare her. She had been dying to see him. She could not think of anything other than wanting to see him. She had waited so long. Come stay with me for a while . It was an open invitation.

“Or did he make you think that it was you who chose him?” A smile formed around her dark-rouged lips, a sardonic smile.

Certainly she made the first move. She came here of her own will. Was that not her own decision? Did he somehow will her here? Was Professor Tamiko hinting at some kind of manipulation that had escaped Suzy?

“Don’t think so hard. You’re not breaking up a marriage. This has nothing to do with you.” Yuki Tamiko took her gaze away, as though she had finally lost interest. Then she finished the glass of water and grabbed the cream leather handbag that had been sitting on the counter. She stopped at the door. She seemed to hesitate. When she turned around, her eyes were no longer cold. Almost apologetic, Suzy thought.

“Damian’s not capable. He cannot love an Asian woman.”

The water is getting cold now. She climbs out of the bath and wraps herself in a towel. The mirror is her own face staring out at her, oddly unfamiliar. The lines have crept under her eyes, tiny threads of years which have not been there until recently. Her chin appears sharper, almost angular, no longer innocent. Her breasts are looser, facing downward slightly, a note of gravity. She’s become a woman suddenly. She will turn thirty in less than two weeks. Her mother had never warned her. “Asian girls don’t age, do they?” a painter for whom she had posed once told her, moving into her face a bit too closely. He was wrong. He implied that being Asian was a different destiny. He thought that it bought her time.

Suzy stares at her own reflection. Ms. Goldman seemed to think that she looked nothing like Grace. Bob had mistaken her for Grace. How could two people think so differently? Then it comes back to her.

You remind me of someone I used to know, a good woman, too young to be killed like that.