Nothing. Just another glance out the window.
Okay, so back to manipulating her about her Christian faith. I knew a lot about the Christian faith as I taught in the Philosophy and Religion department here at the U. of C., though I supposed by Ah-seong’s standards I was an atheist. By my standards, maybe not an atheist. More like an agnostic. I made a religion out of doubt.
Long ago I had rejected my parents’ brand of white, upper class, self-congratulatory Lutheranism, though their god was not technically the God of Martin Luther. They were really idol worshippers; they worshipped money and greed was their daily ritual.
Their worship of their own wealth and their conviction it made them superior human beings whose judgment was correct in all things, and certainly correct for my life, had gradually alienated me. I’d rebelled and left home after high school. My Great-Aunt, who lived part of the time in Denmark and part of the time in the U.S., was equally alienated from the family and their single-minded devotion to the acquisition of money. She’d set up a trust fund for me so I could be independent. I adored her. She was the only person in my family I knew who was remotely like me. I’d used the money for college and then I’d decided to become a cop, frankly just to continue to annoy my parents. But I’d liked it.
At first.
When I was a newbie cop I’d adopted the functional belief system all cops seem to have. ‘Somebody upstairs’ is watching over me. It’s a blend of faith and fatalism. But after my policeman husband was killed in the line of duty, killed because his backup had not gotten out of the car, I’d become a dedicated doubter, but a reformed variety. I worshipped ideas.
But Christianity wasn’t an idea to Ah-seong. Her faith was obviously personal and important to her. I felt like a rat using her faith to manipulate her.
I’d be a rat, though, if being a rat could save her life. Choking is often a signal that a future attack will be fatal, and the bruises on her wrist, bruises that seemed a little more faded than the livid marks on her throat, meant she’d likely been bruised more than once. Really dangerous pattern.
“Alright, Ah-seong, you know that Christians believe hurting another person is wrong and that Jesus would not like that. So the person who is doing this to you is doing something wrong. You need to tell me who that is so we can help him. Help him stop sinning in this way.”
I tried out the pronoun; pretty sure it was the right one.
Women who get hit by boyfriends or husbands many times won’t get help for themselves, because at some level they think they deserve the abuse, but they’ll respond to a plea to get help for their batterer.
Ah-seong was no different. She sat up, straightened her narrow shoulders and turned directly toward me.
“He does not mean it to hurt me. He is sad if he hurts me. He has much affection for me—it is only if he is frustrated for his grades and to be on team at the same time.”
She trailed off, perhaps aware that she had just revealed that the boyfriend who was making bruises on her was on a college team and had to keep his grades up—to keep a scholarship?
The University of Chicago long ago gave up its powerhouse football team, the original “Monsters of the Midway,” the midway being the large grassy mall that bisected the campus. The Chicago Bears became the “Monsters of the Midway.” But even the rigid, scholarly President Edward Hastings, who dismantled the university’s athletic program because he deemed too much concentration on sports was incompatible with true dedication to intellectual pursuits, had been unable to take all the scholarship money from football. A few named scholarships had remained. The best Hastings had been able to do was tie them to high grade point averages, a 3.5 or even 3.8 I thought.
“Does he play football, Ah-seong?” I asked.
Her hair swung across her face, as she vigorously shook her head no.
I wasn’t buying it.
“I think he does play football, if he has a scholarship and hopes to keep it. I’d like to help him.”
I knew exactly how I’d like to help him.
“I pray for him. They pray for him.”
Barely a whisper escaped her rigid lips.
“Who prays for him, Ah-seong?”
“We all do.” Her eyes met mine. She felt on solid ground here.
“All the Koreans in your group?”
“Yes.” Almost inaudible.
So the student group knows this is going on? Not good.
“Ah-seong, prayer is good, but we must help him in other ways too. He must get counseling. You need counseling too.”
“No!” She rose slightly out of the chair and fear coursed into her eyes, driving out the brief look of trust. Her knuckles grabbing the backpack were white. She lowered jerkily back down but her thin frame was vibrating with anxiety. What was going on here?
“No, I do not wish counseling. I do not wish to talk to anyone about this. No one.”
She let the backpack slide to the floor unnoticed and she wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. She was self-comforting and trying to make herself even smaller at the same time. I felt a wave of pity.
Yet, I literally had no idea what was going on in her mind at that moment. One thing was clear though, whomever this guy was he needed to be identified and stopped. But first I needed to reduce her terror.
“Okay, okay. Nobody will force you into counseling. Take a few breaths. We’ll figure this out.”
I thought for a minute and then decided to try something. Maybe this guy who was hurting her was a member of the prayer group. I decided to try it out.
“Ah-seong, you know Jesus does not think anyone should hurt another person, but especially Christians should not hurt each other. Is he in the prayer group with you all when you are praying for him?”
“We pray for him.”
Not clear.
“Yes, okay, praying for him is good, but perhaps you should try not to see him, you know, give him some time to repent and change.”
Wow, was I blowing this. I knew that wouldn’t happen. I opened my mouth to retract what I had just said, but Ah-seong spoke first.
“It is not right I do not see him. Our prayers will help him.”
So what? Had the prayer group convinced her she could convert this battering boyfriend if she sticks with prayer? That is the kind of ‘hit me again’ idea of Jesus and sacrifice that is responsible for so much pain and suffering among conservative Christian women.
I hoped Ah-seong could not see the steam coming out of my ears. I was really furious. But I needed to control my own anger and focus on this hurting person in front of me. I took a breath. Jesus help me. Literally.
“Ah-seong, it is never right for someone to hurt another person. You are God’s child and Jesus loves you. You must get some help for yourself, for him, so that he stops doing this.”
She shook her head from side to side again, but so slowly, so sadly I felt a prickle behind my eyes. I’m not a prayer person myself but I did send an urgent message out into the universe, ‘Let this person seek help.’
“I will pray about what you say.”
She bent and picked up her backpack and then neatly gathered her coat and disappeared around the divider that made one office into two cubicles.
She left so quietly I barely heard the door open and shut.
I hoped if she wouldn’t talk to me she’d seek professional help elsewhere in the university and not just go running