Chang-rae Lee - The surrendered

She could certainly believe all was in order. The atmosphere had changed since their arrival. The orphanage was named New Hope, for obvious reasons, and it surely was that for these children, but there had always been certain reminders of a natural limit to the notion, maybe found in the spartan meagerness of the surroundings, the children’s worn, ill-fitting clothes, but now the air in the play yard seemed eminently clearer and fresher, as if a vibrant, sturdy fir had suddenly taken root in their midst, its limbs heavy with sticky needles. The children were orbiting about Sylvie in ever-denser clusters, following her lead to the last letter and note as she taught them old camp songs and games like Red Rover and Telephone. She had also bought a brand-new soccer ball when she was last in Seoul, and after classes and chores (Tanner would always retire to the cottage, to read or go over plans), she’d often run around with them until suppertime and have to switch teams in the middle to prevent arguments, and it wasn’t hard to see how any of them could begin to forget that she hadn’t always been a part of the orphanage, and wouldn’t always be so in the future.

They began their play in the late afternoon. Hector never tried the game and this was his excuse for not joining in but often now he’d pause at his work and watch the action, the more sporting boys quicker than everyone except for Sylvie, who wasn’t so much skilled as determined; she seemed intent on keeping the contest fair and getting everyone involved, and with her long legs she could protect the ball and keep them at bay so that the more tentative boys and girls could get touches and shots at the goal. She wore light cotton men’s trousers, which she cinched tight with a doubled length of rope; by the end, her knees and flanks would be dusted brick-red from the clayey dirt of the yard. When she took a break she led the rest of them on the sidelines in chants and cheers, and here, too, there’d be a competition among them to see who could sing the loudest, not for their own esteem of course but for the sake of gaining Sylvie’s, and for brief moments Hector almost felt as though he were a young boy again in Ilion, sitting in the high school field bleachers with his father, the crisp autumn air thrumming with hoarse, happy voices.

The only child who never played or cheered was June. Hector sometimes saw her slip into the high brush of the valley, or into the dormitory, making a point of disappearing for the entire time. It was as if June couldn’t bear the sight of the others enjoying Sylvie’s company, even as it was evident to all how special her own position was. But one afternoon she emerged from the brush behind Hector’s quarters and stood leaning against the corner of the building as he cleaned rust from some tools with a scraper and a rag soaked in kerosene. The game now was especially spirited, for it was the boys against the girls and Sylvie, and he could see in her tensed chin that June was wanting to join the action.

“Go ahead, why don’t you.”

“I don’t want to,” she told him. “The boys are losing. They need you.”

“I have work to do.”

“You always have work.” She spoke to him in the declarative tone she employed with everyone except Sylvie Tanner.

He replied, “I like work.”

“No, you don’t. You do it for another reason.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Because you don’t want to have fun.” She said it seriously but was smiling at him, slyly but almost broadly, at least for her. It was the first time she’d ever smiled at him (and maybe at anyone else) since he’d met her on the road, and he was surprised by how fetching and kindly her face could become.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, wiping the rusty leavings from the spade with a cloth. “What’s your excuse?”

She was watching the game intently now, as one of the older girls, a very pretty, very round-faced girl named Mi-Young, was celebrating a goal with Sylvie, hugging and laughing.

“Same,” June said, with sudden seriousness.

“I guess that makes us birds of a feather.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Flocking together. Enjoying our no fun.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Forget it. You want to scrape that shovel head for me?”

She glanced at the game and then diffidently nodded and he tossed her the wire brush. She held the wooden handle and went at it hard, as though she were playing a cello but trying to break the strings.

“Take it easy,” he told her.

“Why?”

“You’re going to breathe in the rust.”

“So?”

“It can’t be good for you.”

“It’s okay.”

“You want to live a long life?”

“Yes,” she answered, with near defiance, as if he were somehow threatening her.

“All right, then.”

She didn’t answer him but soon she slowed her scraping, carefully blowing away the dark orange dust after every half-dozen or so passes with the brush. The game grew more raucous and vocal, the aunties and children on the sidelines guffawing and cheering whenever there was a nifty pass or a good shot, but he and June simply tossed the damp rag back and forth, both subconsciously trying to show their lack of interest in the game, which would have been easy had Sylvie Tanner not been at the center of the action, the girls constantly passing the ball to her, the boys checking her closely or else trying to dribble right through her. But she was more agile than her tall frame suggested and had clearly played the game before and she set up two quick goals and kicked in one herself, while the boys were held scoreless. They all seemed deflated by this last goal and one of the most skilled boys, Hyun, even sat in the dirt in disgust, wearily rubbing his scalp, and soon some of the others began to sit down as well. Sylvie went about their side, clapping her hands, shouting, “Hey, hey, we’ll have none of that, boys,” and though they were listening to her they didn’t rise to their feet until June appeared in their midst. She had simply handed Hector the cleaned spade and trotted out to them.

“May I play now?” she asked Sylvie.

“Of course!”

“I’ll play with them,” she said, pointing to the boys.

“Even better!”

The boys protested but Sylvie would have none of it. She whistled through her fingers and put the ball into play by nudging it to June, who without hesitance bolted by her and then passed it to Hyun, who had broken toward the goal. He scored easily. The boys whooped and hollered as the girls cried foul that they weren’t yet ready.

“Let them play like that, girls,” Sylvie exhorted them, lining up the ball at midfield again. She was beaming at June, obviously pleased by her unexpected involvement, though crouched in an athletic, ready stance. “We’ll win our way.”

The game was a tight contest from that point on. Mi-Young scored next, but then the boys’ team put in three in a row to tie the score. Everyone could see that the difference was June. She was adept enough at dribbling and passing, but it was her tireless, almost furious play on defense that changed the flow of the game. The boys had been holding back somewhat in checking the girls, but this was not the case with June; she threw herself at whoever had the ball, and covered Sylvie closely so they couldn’t pass to her, and then relentlessly hounded Mi-Young, who was their best player. They were the same size and age and perhaps rivals in that Mi-Young was well liked by all the girls and seen as a mentoring big sister (the girls would crowd around her cot in the dormitory), whereas June was June, someone to avoid, or at least to give a wide berth to. But now June was bringing the action right to her. If Mi-Young was near, June would bump her, and whenever she had the ball June would lean into her roughly and fiercely kick at the ball. Mi-Young would push back with equal force and kick at June as well, neither girl wearing anything on her feet, and by the end of the match they had gouged jagged little cuts into each other’s ankles and calves with their toenails. Sensing that their mutual malice was now detracting from the friendly mood of the game, Sylvie announced that the next goal would be the winner. By this point Hector had ceased cleaning the tools, caught up, too, in the action. In the final moments Hyun attempted a crossing pass to June but it was intercepted by Sylvie, who fed the ball to Mi-Young as she streaked alone the opposite way. It was surely the end of the game. But June then seemed to fly downfield, passing everyone as though they were rooted, and before Mi-Young could take a shot June tackled her so hard that she upended her.