A momentary silence washes over the courtroom. Nothing about the woman suggests a music degree. The mass of gray hair gathered into a bun at the back of her head. The sallow face in desperate need of Maybelline or Lancôme or whichever product adds color. Then her cracked fingers, caked with dead skin, the nails chipped, which she quietly hides under her sleeves as though she too is surprised at her own revelation.
“Mrs. Choi, what is your status in the United States?”
“I am a permanent resident.”
“Under what circumstances did you come to the United States from Korea?”
“I came on a student visa.”
“Affiliated with any school?”
“Juilliard.”
“And did you study there?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“My parents went bankrupt and could no longer send me money.
“So what did you do?”
“I got a job as a cashier at a Korean deli. I was planning on saving up and going back to school.”
“And were you able to?”
“Objection! How is her education history relevant to any of this?” The INS attorney looks exasperated. Suzy has seen this before, many times. Lawyers are always acting frantic. They are perpetually frustrated or running out of time. It must be the first lesson they teach at law schools: act like an asshole if the case is not going your way.
“Sustained,” Judge Williams drones. Come on, his murky eyes suggest, do we really have to go through all this?
“Mrs. Choi, are you currently married?”
“Yes.”
“Do you live with your husband?”
“I did.”
“What do you mean?”
“I did until I was arrested.”
“Any children?”
No answer. Suzy pauses as Mrs. Choi clams up. A silent response is the hardest for an interpreter. A pause signals difficulty. Sometimes the witness is confused or does not know the answer. Sometimes it is a ploy to avoid the question. But most times the witness is stuck because the answer is too painful.
“Mrs. Choi, do you have any children?
“Mrs. Choi, according to the record, you have one daughter, is that correct?
“Mrs. Choi, is your daughter’s name Sue Choi?”
Leave her alone, Suzy pleads silently. Can’t you see the sadness on her face?
“Okay, Mrs. Choi, let’s move on to another topic.” The lawyer relents, or puts the daughter on hold for now. “Where were you employed last?”
“Together Market.”
“Where was Together Market located?”
“Between 125th Street and Lenox Avenue.”
“What kind of business was Together Market?”
“A fruit-and-vegetable store.”
“Who owned it?”
“My husband.”
“What was your job or duty?”
“A cashier during daytime, and in the evenings I prepared food for the salad bar and made fruit cups.”
Mom did that too, Suzy recalls. Although Dad never let Suzy, she saw Mom making fruit cups once. Long before they bought the Tremont Avenue shop. It was Grace who took her there. The store was in Manhattan, very far from Queens. It took nearly an hour on the Number 7 train, and at Grand Central, they got out and walked a few blocks. The woman at the cash register had the deepest double folds on her eyelids. Plastic surgery is common among Korean women to make their eyes bigger, like Meg Ryan’s. Except the folds on this woman looked too fake, and her eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets, the skin around them pulled too tightly. The woman languidly pointed to the kitchen in the back, where Mom was squatting on a milk crate facing a cutting board and boxes of cantaloupes. She was carving melons into moon-shaped pieces before putting them into a plastic container, which she would tie with a rubber band. Then the process would begin again. And again. She was like Cinderella, with a mountain of chores, except the mountain was made up of cantaloupes and the midnight ball never took place. Suzy cannot remember what came next. Did Mom finally turn around and see them there? Or is it possible that before Mom could find them Grace pulled Suzy’s arm with a sudden burst of anger and stormed out? How often had Grace gone there? Did she go back to watch Mom from the doorway? Why had Grace brought her there anyway? Suzy couldn’t stand cantaloupes after that. Or Grand Central, for that matter.
For a while now, the questions have been circling around the store called Together Market—when did her husband purchase the store, how many hours per week did she work there, how much was her annual income. Then he finally zeroes in: “Let’s go back to the night you got arrested, that would be December 2, 1997. Can you, in your own words, explain to the court what happened?”
For a second, Suzy notices Mrs. Choi’s fingers clutching the edge of the seat. Then a curt response: “I stabbed a girl.” Suzy hesitates before translating. She tries to think of a softer word for “stab” in English, but there is no such thing. Mrs. Choi did not mean it softly.
The lawyer seems frustrated by her response. He wants descriptions. Details. Whatever it would take to clarify the picture.
“Let me rephrase the question; please tell us the circumstances surrounding the incident in question.”
“She was a customer, and I stabbed her,” Mrs. Choi answers with not much feeling. And definitely no regret.
“I understand. But could you tell us how the situation specifically arose, or what exchange you had with this customer whom you claim to have stabbed?” He is losing patience. He knew that she would not be an easy witness. Legal Aid had warned him. Despite the language barrier, it is not hard to see that the woman has little interest in saving herself.
Suzy is also losing patience, adding at end of the lawyer’s question, Please say more. This might be your last chance.
“I was making fruit cups and I saw the girl stealing.”
“And then what happened?”
“I stabbed her in her shoulder with the knife I was using to cut fruit.”
“Mrs. Choi, isn’t it true that the girl punched you repeatedly before you pulled out the knife?”
“Objection!” the INS attorney barks. “The counsel is leading the respondent. Besides, the respondent has already served her sentence. The respondent is not summoned to this court for her crime; she’s here because she is deportable!”
“Your Honor, it is very relevant. Her crime is exactly why she has been deemed deportable.”
“Overruled, but, Counsel, I will not allow these types of questions for much longer.” A warning. Judge Williams wants this show to be over with. Three more cases to go today: two asylum petitions, one status adjustment. Pardon them one year, detention centers get jammed tenfold in the following year. Is America up for grabs? Judge Williams adjusts his glasses, which slide down again almost immediately.
“Thank you, Your Honor. Mrs. Choi, did the girl you claimed to have stabbed provoke you in any way? Such as insulting you with racial slurs or attacking you physically?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Mrs. Choi, if you would please look at Exhibit A, in front of you, which is the transcript of your testimony from the criminal hearing that took place on January 30, 1998, you will find that you testified that the sixteen-year-old victim had stolen a six-pack of beer and a case of cherries and then called you ‘Fucking Chink’ several times, among other racial slurs, and then proceeded to punch you repeatedly in the face. Is that correct?”
It is then that Suzy remembers the headline from a few years back. “KOREAN WOMAN STABS BLACK TEENAGE GIRL FOR CHERRIES.” It was all over the papers. The girl was out of the hospital in a few weeks, but boycotts spread like wildfire against Korean fruit-and-vegetable stores in Harlem and the Bronx. The New York Post called it the “Return of Rodney King”; Reverend Al Sharpton exhorted his people to fight back; 1010-WINS updated the news every half-hour. Suzy remembers the photograph of the distraught woman surrounded by a mob of reporters. Is that why she seems familiar? Where are those reporters now? Do people forget so quickly?