Visiting My Parents by Lee Langvad, trans. by Hazel Evans
In this excerpt from Lee Langvad's novel My Interpreter – translated from Danish by Hazel Evans – an adoptee narrator who lives in Denmark goes for a meal at her biological family's home in South Korea. During the visit, an interpreter must translate between her and her parents. The resulting (mis)understandings, beats, and silences manifest physically in the text's form.
Supported by a grant from the Open Society Foundations.
My interpreter stops in front of a red house.
My interpreter says: I think this is it. Do you recognise it?
I say: No, I can’t remember anything about their house. I’ve only visited once since they moved.
She opens the gate into the front yard. It’s full of stone pots of kimchi, and plastic buckets with salad growing in them. She walks up to the door and knocks. My mother opens.
I say: Hello.
My mother nods. My father appears behind her. He takes my hand, supporting himself on his cane with the other.
I think: He’s gotten even more hunchback since I last saw him.
My father says: .
My interpreter says: Your father says it’s good to see you.
I say: It’s good to see him too.
My interpreter says: .
I say: I see he’s started using a cane.
My interpreter says: .
My father says:
.
My interpreter says: It’s harder for him to walk now, but the cane helps. There’s a park nearby he goes for walks in every day to keep himself active. He says it’s a normal part of getting older.
I say: I’m happy to hear that he goes for walks every day.
My interpreter says: .
My mother says: .
My interpreter says: Your mother says he’s overdoing it. She says he goes for several walks a day.
My mother herds us inside. We take off our shoes and sit down at a low table that has been set out on the living room floor. On the table are bowls of kimchi and plates of tofu and fish. My mother comes in from the kitchen carrying a tray of soup and rice.
My mother says: Are you hungry?
My interpreter says: She’s asking if you’re hungry.
I say: I got that.
I nod.
My mother says: .
My interpreter says: She says she made miyeokguk especially for you.
I smile at her and taste the soup. My mother watches me closely.
I say: It tastes really good.
My mother smiles.
My interpreter says: So you do speak Korean!
I say: I wouldn’t go that far. I can say a few words in Korean, and most of them are food-related.
My interpreter tastes the soup.
My interpreter says: .
My mother smiles.
I say: What did you say to her?
My interpreter says: I just complimented her on her miyeokguk.
My father says: .
My interpreter says: Your father says she’s a good cook.
I say: I know that. When I lived here she would sometimes come by my place with kimchi. It was too spicy for me, so I swapped it with my friend’s mother’s kimchi. Her mother is from a province in the north where the kimchi isn’t as spicy. My friend always said that my mother’s kimchi tasted amazing.
My interpreter says: That’s kind of funny, that you swapped.
I say: Yeah, maybe don’t translate that part.
My interpreter says: I won’t.
My father says: ?
My interpreter says:
.
I say: What did my father ask?
My interpreter says: He asked what we were talking about.
I say: What did you tell him?
My interpreter says: I told him your mother used to come by with kimchi when you lived here, and you loved it.
My interpreter and I smile at each other.
My father says: ?
My interpreter says: Your father wants to know if you still write books.
I say: Yes, I do.
My interpreter says: .
My father says: .
My interpreter says: He hopes you’ll become a famous author.
I smile.
My father says:
.
My interpreter says: He says he had to work to earn money, so he never got the chance to study.
I think: He’s said that before.
I say: What would he have studied if he’d had the chance?
My interpreter says: ?
My mother says: .
My interpreter says: Your mother thinks he would have made a good teacher.
I say: That reminds me of the time I went to Jeju with them.
My interpreter says: When was that?
I say: It was years ago. While I was living here. My sisters had given my father a trip to Jeju for his seventieth birthday, but they were all too busy to go with him, so it ended up just being me and my parents.
I take a piece of tofu from the bowl on the table.
I say: My father tried to teach me what things were called in Korean. He’d say the word out loud and point at whatever it was. I can still remember the word for that soft, tall grass that grows everywhere.
My interpreter says: What kind of grass?
I say: Oxepul.
My interpreter says: I’ve never heard that word. Are you sure that’s what it’s called?
I say: Yes.
My interpreter says: Say it again.
I say: Oxepul.
My interpreter says: I think you might have misheard.
I look at my father. He slurps his soup.
I say: Oxepul.
He keeps slurping without looking up.
My mother says: ?
My interpreter says: Your mother wants to know what your favourite food is.
I say: I like doenjang-jjigae and kongnamul-gukbap.
My interpreter says: .
My mother says: .
My interpreter says: She says that’s because it was the food you ate when you were a child.
I say: But I didn’t eat any Korean food when I was a child. I ate Danish food. A lot of bread and potatoes.
My interpreter says: Yeah, I’m not sure why she said that.
My mother says:
?
My interpreter says: Your mother says it’s difficult to send doenjang-jjigae and kongnamul-gukbap to Denmark. She wants to know if you prefer Korean food to Danish food.
I say: I prefer Korean food to traditional Danish food, but I don’t like all Korean food.
My interpreter says:
.
I say: Will you ask her what her favourite food is.
My interpreter says: ?
My mother says: .
My interpreter says: She likes all Korean food.
I say: Even dog soup?
My interpreter says: I’m not going to ask her that. That’s such a Western question. People have always eaten dog in Korea, but that doesn’t mean everyone eats it.
I say: I thought it was normal to eat dog soup.
My interpreter says: That’s because you think like a Westerner. Actually, not that many people eat bosintang. It’s mostly older people.
My mother gestures for me to take some fish.
My mother says: ?
My interpreter says: .
I say: What did she ask?
My interpreter says: She asked what we were talking about.
I say: What did you tell her?
My interpreter says: I said you wanted to know if she ate bosintang.
I say: Why did you say that? Now she’s going to think I think like a Westerner.
My interpreter says: Well, you do.
I say: Yeah, but do you really need to spell it out for her?
I free the fish meat from the skin with my chopsticks. My mother watches me closely.
My mother says: .
My interpreter says: She says you hold your chopsticks wrong.
I think: Is that a surprise to her? I grew up in Denmark.
My mother says: ?
My interpreter says: She wants to know whether you can make Korean food.
I say: I can make doenjang-jjigae and bibimbap and gimbap. I haven’t learned how to make kimchi yet.
My interpreter says:
.
My mother says: .
My interpreter says: Your sisters can’t make kimchi either.
I say: Really?
My interpreter says: ?
My mother says:
.
My interpreter says: It’s because it takes too long to make. Your sisters don’t have time, so she makes kimchi for them. She says hers tastes better than the stuff you can buy in the supermarket.
I say: It’s expensive to buy kimchi in Denmark, so I’d like to learn to make it myself.
My interpreter says:
.
My mother says: .
My interpreter says: She didn’t think you could get kimchi in Denmark.
I say: The Asian supermarkets have always sold it, and now you can even get it in some of the regular supermarkets. Kimchi is popular in Denmark now.
My interpreter says:
.
My mother smiles.
My interpreter says:
.
I say: What did you say to her?
My interpreter says: I said Korea did a good job promoting kimchi in the West. Like with K-pop and K-drama.
I say: I think it’s also because of all the interest in fermentation — that’s what made kimchi so popular. People realised how healthy it is to eat fermented food. It can prevent cancer and all kinds of other diseases.
My interpreter says:
.
My mother says:
.
My interpreter says: She says they’ve always known that in Korea. That’s why kimchi is such a big part of the diet. She says it was a way to get vitamins in winter, back when you couldn’t get fresh vegetables. Kimchi contains almost all the nutrients your body needs.
My mother takes a piece of kimchi from the bowl on the table.
My mother says: .
My interpreter says: She says she’d like to give us some kimchi to take home.
I say: That’s kind of her, but we’re leaving on Thursday and we still haven’t eaten the kimchi your aunt gave us.
My interpreter says:
.
My mother’s facial expression flips.
My mother says: .
My interpreter says: She says she’ll come by with some kimchi for us next time we’re in Korea.
I say: That would be nice.
My interpreter says: .
My mother smiles.
My mother says: .
My father and my interpreter laugh.
My interpreter says: .
My mother and my father laugh.
My mother says:
.
My father and my interpreter laugh.
My interpreter says: Wait, you’re crying. What’s wrong?
I say: Don’t worry. I’ll tell you after.
She passes me a napkin from the dispenser on the table. My mother moves a piece of fish into my bowl. My father looks down at the table.
My mother says:
.
My interpreter says: Your mother says it’s about time you found yourself a husband. You’ll be forty soon.
My interpreter and I look at each other.
My father says: ?
My interpreter says: Your father wants to know if you’d prefer a Korean husband or a foreign husband?
I think: I don’t want any kind of husband.
I say: I don’t know, but we’d have to be able to talk to each other.
My interpreter says: .
My father says: .
My interpreter says: He hopes you’ll find a Korean husband.
I think: Then he can keep hoping.
I put down my chopsticks and lean back with my hands on the floor to support me.
My mother says: ?
My interpreter says: Your mother is asking aren’t you going to eat more?
I say: I’m full.
I think: That I can still remember how to say in Korean.
My mother looks at me questioningly as she points with her hand at the plate of dubu kimchi. I put my hands on my stomach to indicate that I’m full.
My mother says: .
My interpreter says: She says she’d like to give you some food to take home.
I say: Thanks. That’s kind of her.
My interpreter says: .
My mother starts stacking the bowls and plates on the tray again. She disappears into the kitchen with them. My interpreter, my father and I remain seated on the floor.
My interpreter says: I’m just going to the toilet. Try not to miss me too much.
She winks at me.
My interpreter says: ?
My father says: .
He points at the door at the end of the hall. My interpreter gets up and walks towards the door.
My father says: .
My father says: .
I say: Hmm.
My father says: .
I think: It’s something about marriage.
I make a cross with my arms in front of my chest.
I say: Marriage.
My father says: .
I say: I don’t understand what you’re saying.
My father says:
.
I say: If it’s because you’re worried I can’t manage without a man, there’s no need. I manage fine. You don’t need to worry about me.
My father says: .
My interpreter returns from the toilet and sits down next to me. I put my hand on her thigh.
I say: Thank god you’re back. My father keeps talking like I can understand what he’s saying, so I just started talking Danish back at him.
I think: I can’t take more talk of marriage.
I say: Will you tell him I brought two of my books for him. He’s said several times before that he’d like to see them.
My interpreter says:
.
I take the books out of my bag and hand them to my father. He opens the thin book on top.
My father says: .
My interpreter says: He says you look young in the photo.
I say: That’s my first book. It was years ago.
My interpreter says: .
My father says: ?
My interpreter says: He wants to know what the book is about.
I say: You can tell him it’s about racism, nationality, and adoption.
My interpreter says: .
My father leafs through the book.
My father says: .
My interpreter says: He wishes he could read your books.
I think: Thank god he can’t. He might never want to see me again if he knew what I'd written about my family.
I say: I hope someday they’ll be translated to Korean.
My interpreter says: .
My father says: .
My interpreter says: He hopes he’s still alive if they're ever translated to Korean.
My father puts the thin book aside and opens the thick book called She Is Angry.
I say: That’s the book I wrote while I was living here.
My interpreter says: .
My father says: ?
My interpreter says: He wants to know if it’s about Korea.
I say: Yeah, I guess you could say that. It’s about what it was like for me to live here.
My interpreter says:
.
I say: If he asks what the book’s called can you please not tell him?
My interpreter says: I’ll just say it’s called She Is. You can say that in Korean in a way that sounds philosophical.
I say: Do you think he’ll believe you?
My interpreter says: Why wouldn’t he?
My father says: ?
My interpreter says: Your father wants to know if the book is written in English.
I say: No, it’s written in Danish.
My interpreter says: .
My mother returns from the kitchen. She puts two plates of fruit on the table. There are nashi pears on one of the plates, peeled and cut into long wedges, and strawberries on the other, their stalks pinched off.
My mother says: ?
My interpreter says: Your mother wants to know if you’re able to support yourself by writing books.
I say: Tell her I am.
My interpreter says: .
I think: No reason to tell her how hard it is.
My mother says: ?
My interpreter says: She wants to know if you’re able to support your Danish mother.
I say: I don’t need to. In Denmark, the welfare state looks after people when they get too old to work.
My interpreter says: .
My father says: .
My interpreter says: Your father wishes they had a welfare state in Korea.
I say: Don’t they get any support?
My interpreter says: ?
My father says:
.
My interpreter says: He says the support from the state doesn’t amount to much, and you can only get it if you don’t have children.
My father says:
.
My interpreter says: He knows people his age who struggle to get by because they don’t want to ask their children for money.
I say: How do they get by then?
My interpreter says: ?
My father says:
.
My interpreter says: Some of them collect rubbish and cardboard so they can afford food and rent.
My mother says: .
My interpreter says: Your mother says some of them do that because they’re bored. She says it’s a way to keep busy.
My father says:
.
My interpreter says: Your father says most of them do it because they have no other choice. He says they’re forced to keep working until they die.
I say: I read that South Korea is one of the countries in Asia with the worst pension scheme. Almost half of the elderly population are living in poverty.
My interpreter says:
.
My father says:
.
My interpreter says: Your father says there are lot of children who don’t think it’s up to them to look after their parents when they get old. Things have changed since he was young.
I say: I thought everyone took care of their parents when they got old. Isn’t that the point of filial piety?
My interpreter says: Yes, but things change, apparently.
She pokes a little fork into a piece of pear.
My mother says: .
My interpreter says: Your mother says you should look after your Danish mother.
I say: I will.
My interpreter says: .
My mother says: ?
My interpreter says: She wants to know if your Danish mother is fit and healthy.
I think: It’s been years since she asked me anything about my Danish mother.
I say: Yes, she’s fine.
My interpreter says: .
My mother says:
.
My interpreter says: She’s happy to hear that. She wants you to say hello to your Danish mother from her.
My mother pokes her fork into a strawberry.
My father says:
.
My father says:
.
My father says: .
I say: What is he saying?
My interpreter says: He’s talking about the war. He says he saw a lot of bad things and a lot of good things during the war, but it’s the bad things he remembers best.
My father says:
.
My interpreter says: He says the American soldiers were the worst. He says the Chinese soldiers left the women and children alone.
My father says:
.
My father says:
.
My father says:
.
I think: He seems traumatised.
I poke my fork into a piece of pear.
My father says: .
My father says:
.
My interpreter says: Your father says the Chinese were strategically smarter but the Americans had better equipment. He says they bombed the northern part of the country to smithereens, which is why so many people fled south.
I say: I read that the Americans used napalm bombs, and they even considered using nuclear weapons.
My interpreter says:
.
My father says: .
My interpreter says: He says the US is the best.
I think: He’s just said the American soldiers were the worst, and now he’s saying the US is the best.
My father says:
.
My interpreter says: He says the war wasn’t just a civil war, it was a war between two superpowers. He says if it had just been a civil war, the damage wouldn’t have been so great.
I say: When I was a kid all I learned about it was that Denmark sent a hospital ship to Korea. There’s a famous singer in Denmark who wrote a song about it. That’s the only reason I know. We didn’t learn about the Korean War in school.
My interpreter says:
.
My father says:
.
My interpreter says: Your father remembers how Denmark helped Korea during the war. He says he’ll always be grateful to Denmark.
My father says:
.
My father says: .
My father says: .
My father says:
.
My mother says: .
My father says: .
My mother says: .
I say: What’s she saying to him?
My interpreter says: She told him to stop talking about the war and leave us in peace. She says it’s tiring listening to him.
I say: I thought as much.
My interpreter says: I’m glad she interrupted. It was getting pretty tiring listening to him.
I say: Well, you understand everything he’s saying.
My interpreter says: In a way it’s just like meeting the parents-in-law. The father keeps talking about the war, and you’re fed until you’re full to burst.
I put my hand on her shoulder. My mother gets up and goes into the kitchen with the plates and the forks.
My father says: .
My interpreter says: Your father says you look like his cousin. He thinks this every time he sees you.
I say: I’d like to meet him.
My interpreter says: .
My father says: .
My interpreter says: Your father says they haven’t been in touch since the war. He lives in North Korea.
I say: I think North Korea and South Korea will be reunified one day.
My interpreter says: .
My father says: .
My interpreter says: Your father hopes so too, but he doesn’t think it’ll happen in his lifetime.
My father says: .
My interpreter says: He can’t help but wonder if his cousin is alive or if he’s starved to death.
My father says: .
My father says: .
I say: What is he saying?
My interpreter says: He’s repeating himself.
My mother returns with two plastic tubs of food and puts them on the table.
My mother says: ?
My interpreter says: She’s asking if you can fit the tubs in your bag or if she should give us a bag as well.
I say: Don’t worry, I can fit them in my bag.
My interpreter says: .
My mother smiles. She takes my hand and presses some banknotes into it.
My mother says:
.
My interpreter says: Your mother says she doesn’t have much money, so this is all she can give you. She says you should use it to buy some food at the airport.
I say: Thank you very much.
My mother says: ?
My interpreter says: She’s asking when you’ll come again.
I say: I’ll try to come back next year.
My interpreter says: .
My mother says: .
My interpreter says: She says you should let them know when you’re coming again.
I say: I will.
My interpreter says: .
My mother says: .
My interpreter smiles.
I say: What did she say to you?
My interpreter says: She thanked me for coming too.
We get up and put our shoes on. Then we bow to my parents and step out into the mild evening air.
Cover image: 제주도 by Nanshil Kwon
