The Butcher's Wife

It was a summer day around mid morning. There was no dew on the grass. In fact there was no grass at all, for the sun had dried it all away. The heat was already rising, and air conditioners jutting out from trailer windows were already whirring on.

There were rows of trailers, maybe ten on each side of the lane running down both sides of the trailer park. The trailers - faded, dirty, rusted over thin metal homes - were more like hovels. But what is a person to do when they're poor in Georgia?

Song Gae sat on the front porch of her trailer smoking a cigarette. Her trailer was towards the end of the loop the park lane made, right next to the park exit, where cars would whiz by, sometimes with the latest rock and roll song blaring. She sat there, smoking, thinking of how dry this city in Georgia was, how dead, so dead the grass wilted from fright. Not like Korea, her homeland.

She sat watching her job, two children, a brown haired big eyed girl and her brother, blond hair and green eyed. Their mother had just left. Before she did so, she let the young male child suck at her tit.

How disgusting.

Song Gae hated Americans. Her family had suffered in the war with America, losing their ancestral home and countless heirlooms from their ancestors and now, after a generation of climbing out of poverty, after all of your family's history was destroyed, they wanted her to watch their children.

Song Gae would not have done it, but the money was decent and, combined with what her son sent her, she was able to pay the rent on the trailer space in the park and buy cigarettes.

Song Gae was tired of these bratty kids. She needed to break them. There they were outside, playing with no care in the world, laughing and running, the little boy chasing his sister, and then squealing in retreat when she roared her child's version of some imaginary monster and chased him back. They did this, while her Korean people and their children were suffering the pains of hunger and poverty, even when children as old as these two were already working day and night.

She knew she had to feed these two children despite her wish to show them what it was like to go hungry. If they were sick or lost weight, the mother would take the children to someone else and Song Gae would lose money. So she fed them, fine Korean food. They did not like the kimchi, though.

What Song Gae needed was a Korean market. There was no place around this city of Georgia to get eel or octopus. Maybe, Song Gae thought, if she saved up enough money, maybe with a friend, they could open one.

Song Gae put out her cigarette and took a drink from her soda.

"You. Come inside," she said. She hoped they would laugh at her accent. Her accent was still thick, but she did the best she could, watching t.v. and picking up words.

The bratty kids, the yellow hair child and his older sister ran quickly up to the trailer. The yellow haired child, only four years old, would grow up to be a bum no doubt, stupid as he was. The sister, now six years old, would make a hard worker one day. She already did Song Gae's laundry without complaint.

"Time for nap," Song Gae said. Song Gae did not really care if the kids slept or became insomniacs. She simply hated listening to their laughter.

The younger one pushed out his lips and closed his eyes. He stamped his foot in the rocky dirt.

"I don't wanna take a nap," he said.

That was what Song Gae was hoping for.

She grabbed the little boy by his right ear and dragged him inside. The sister followed behind.

"You don't want to take nap?" Song Gae yelled.

She pulled him past the small living room, being careful not to bounce him off the t.v. She pulled him two steps forward to where the kitchen was. Song Gae pulled open the oven door.

"That's were bad kids go, in oven," she said.

The yellow haired boy was crying now. Whack went her hand on the back of his head.

"Stop cry!" she yelled.

The yellow haired boy started to smell funny. Song Gae looked down, and saw he was peeing his pants.

This was too much for Song Gae to handle. These weak American kids were driving her insane.

She reached up and took her butcher's knife from off the kitchen counter next to the sink.

"You pee yourself, I cut off your wee wee. Stop pee!" she yelled.

The little boy twisted and squirmed, and broke free. He ran down the trailer hall and into the second bedroom.

Song Gae did not want to go crawling after him. She turned to the sister.

"You get him, or I do to you!" she yelled, still holding the knife.

The sister, lips turned down in such a sad, sad frown, eyes watering, nodded her head. The little girl ran down the hall to the second bedroom, and Song Gae followed.

As the sister went into the room, Song Gae looked inside. There was no little boy. There were the paintings of mountain forests and waterfalls, in cheap wood frames painted bronze, leaning against the far wall. The paintings were torn and faded but still looked pretty. It was a place Song Gae would have loved to visited or lived at.

Opposite the paintings, next to the door, were two white mattresses, unused and still in the plastic leaning against the wall. The little girl was squatting on her knees, looking in the small cavern of space created between mattress and wall. She was whispering.

"Please brother, come out," the little girl implored. "Please, she'll do it to me if you don't."

The yellow haired boy crawled out, sniffling. He gave his sister a hug.

These American children were weak.

Song Gae grabbed the boy by the hair, and pulled him to the living room. She pushed him on the floor, which he hit with a thud.

"You," she said, pointing to the sister, "hold feet." Song Gae was glad she did not have to explain this a second time. These kids were not only weak, but stupid as well.

The little girl did as she was told, and took off her brother's shoes and socks. Then she held his little, skinny legs straight up in the air, so that his feet were staring straight at Song Gae.

Song Gae went into the kitchen and grabbed the biggest pair of cooking chopsticks she could find.

Slap! Slap! Slap! went the chopsticks on the bottom of his bare feet. Slap! Slap! Slap!

The little boy was crying. The sister was crying. Song Gae stood up and left them alone. She hated touching the little boys feet, and told the sister to put his shoes back on him.

The mother was there an hour later, her car full of suitcases, a big traveling shell hooked to the top. The children were moving to another city with their mother. Damn the money, Song Gae thought, I'll have some peaceful days now. Maybe watch the children of an honorable Korean family.

The mother was cordial, offered a few extra dollars for Song Gae as a way to say thank you for her help. At least the mother had respect for Song Gae's labors.

The bratty brother and sister were in the car, and did not look at Song Gae at all as they drove away. That was fine with her, since she hated the sight of those kids.

Song Gae watched the car as it left the trailer park in that city of Georgia, watched it reach the main road, and turn. Song Gae could see it drive down to the left, and watched, waiting for the car to disappear.

But it stopped. It began to turn around.

Damn, Song Gae thought to herself.

The car came back, speeding up and slamming on its brakes at the last second.

The mother jumped out of the driver's side. She was screaming. Song Gae knew why.

"You beat my kids! You stupid bitch!"

Thunk went the mother's fist on Song Gae's jaw. Song Gae dropped to the ground.

The mother fell on top of her, beating her face again and again with her fists. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Song Gae could not breathe anymore. When would it stop?

As the car had sped away, the little girl asked, "Are we coming back?"

"No, darling," said the mother.

"You mean it? We never have to see mean Song Gae again?" the little girl cried out.

"Mean? What did she do?"

"Well first she hit me with hangers, and made me do her laundry, and I had to go to bed with pee in my pants and she put strings through my ears and beat me when they fell out and I'm only six, almost seven, but I didn't cry at all! What are you doing mommy? Why are you turning around? Don't make us go back..."