The Calligrapher's Daughter (30 page)

“Pardon me. We were just four boys and Mother was often ill. We learned to do nearly everything.” He stood to gather his side of the cloth. “I’m so relaxed after lunch that I quite forgot myself.”

“Now you’re teasing me,” I said. Immediately regretting the familiarity with which I’d spoken to him—as if talking to Hansu!—I snatched the cloth from him and knotted its corners firmly into handles. He insisted on carrying the bundle, and we ambled slowly back. I breathed the companionable summer air and felt enveloped in the afternoon light slipping yellow through the willows, and the thoughtfulness from our conversation lingered like the languid scent of honeysuckle.

We neared the house and he said, “I’m returning to Pyeongyang tonight, but I’ve enjoyed my visit, today in particular.” I bowed, furious to be blushing. He stopped, and when we instinctively glanced at each other, I was startled by a recognition that passed between us.

“I— I’ll be passing this way in a month, for church business in Seoul for my father. I’ll say goodbye to your family now, but may I visit again then?”

I nodded mutely, relieved that he’d delay any progress of this—whatever confounding thing this was—for a few weeks. He turned toward the house and I took a few steps beside him, the blood swelling in my temples as I understood that I believed he was very much a decent man and would be good for me. “Yes,” I said, and wanting to show him something of my heart, I smiled and extended my hand to take the picnic bundle. I saw charmingly crooked teeth in his smile. His hand touched mine when he gave me the bundle. I was alarmed that someone might be watching us from the house, and my other hand flew up to wave goodbye. Our fingertips met again in mid-air. My neck aflame, I ran a few steps back, turned and bobbed. “Goodbye then. I’ll take this—”

He bowed. “Goodbye, Miss Han. Until May.” I hurried off, but not before I saw him watching me go, his own neck red, his eyes dark and shining.

I took the long way around the house and stopped to gather myself in the shady silkworm shed, my confusion acute. I believed I was loath to be married, and yet the day had opened new veins of emotion within me. I tried to drown the sensations that made my thoughts ridiculous and my body rampantly hot and cold. I smelled the dried persimmon juice on my fingers and counted the facts of his visits: four days and no proposal, one month and he’d visit again, in four months at the end of summer he’d go to America. Should a betrothal occur, I calculated that a wedding would
be postponed at least three years until Mr. Cho returned. I sighed, then couldn’t decide if my breath held relief or regret. The air filled with rustling sounds of creatures chewing mulberry leaves in their netting-topped shallow boxes. I thought of how the caterpillars’ tiny mindless lives culminated in the miraculous prized cocoons, and remembered his mudworm story and my unvoiced thought which was laced with memories of Teacher Yee: that to regard suffering as a gift from God was an unfair measure of faith.

JAEYUN INVITED ME TO VACATION AT SEONGDOWAN BEACH RESORT IN Wonsan. She sent a roundtrip train ticket and said the room was fully paid. Once Mother learned that the train to Wonsan took a mere few hours—meaning Mr. Cho could visit me there if he was so inclined—she urged me to go. I had never been to the beach, nor had I ever been on vacation. Mother insisted that I sell a beaded decorative bronze crown that had been a gift from the princess. I had forgotten about the crown, and once it was unearthed from the secret pantry, its tinkling delicacy brought a flood of memories, and melancholy. So much had changed …

Cook’s most reliable peddler proved that such items now fetched
astronomical prices from Japanese collectors. After repaying Jaeyun for my ticket and share of the hotel, I was able to give the remainder, more than two-thirds, to Mother. This helped me rationalize the trip’s expense somewhat.

On the first day of vacation, I felt guilty about the leisure and carried sewing to the beach. Only after Jaeyun pointed out that the heavy woolen coat I was sewing for Dongsaeng was getting stained with sea spray and giving my legs prickly heat did I leave it in the room. The ever-present saltiness and lapping foamy cold waters, combined with Jaeyun’s pleasant company, soon relaxed me. I walked hours up and down the beach, fascinated by the constancy of the breathing waves, the debris that rose from the sea floor, and bird life that called and swooped to inspect it. After two days of frigid dips, the amusing problem of finding sand in our swimming costumes and bedding, and simple meals at the hotel restaurant, Jaeyun and I hiked a pine-studded rocky promontory that jutted up from the beach.

“I almost forgot to tell you,” said Jaeyun, panting. “My father says he would happily support your hiring at Gaeseong Hospital. Even though it wouldn’t be obstetrics, you’d be working with him in surgery.”

I climbed behind her. “If only I could. Who would’ve imagined that one day I could work beneath your father?” We rested in an alcove cut into the switchback trail overlooking the sea below, and admired the shimmering view. The endless sky melted into the pale edge of the water, as if sea and sky were one, spurring me to wonder where I fit in this world. With the consideration of Mr. Cho, my future seemed as distant and unclear as the horizon.

Jaeyun had bobbed her hair, and in another attempt to convince me to cut mine, said how refreshing the air felt on her bare neck. I discounted her argument by twisting my braid into a bun secured instantly with a twig. I peeled bark off another twig and idly dug in the sandy soil that filled the cracks in the rocks we sat on.

Jaeyun tucked her skirt around her knees. “Your father says no to a job?”

“I’ve worked outside the home before, but my father didn’t like it then, and he doesn’t want the women in his house to work outside now. You know how old-fashioned he is.” I wouldn’t insult my friend with
Father’s low opinion of the nursing profession. “And besides,” I added, glad to change the subject, “right now he appears to be focused on a certain husband-prospect my neighbor introduced us to.”

“No! Tell me everything!”

I told her about Mr. Cho’s visits, and as I finished my story, I realized I’d spoken wistfully.

“Yah, I think I can guess what you’re feeling. Tell me, what’s he like?”

“He’s short. Strong lines in his face, though. Dresses Western style. You know how some men look idiotic in those clothes? He’s very smartly turned out. I think a bit of a fop actually. But he’s intelligent and obviously a good Christian. My mother likes that most about him.”

“You like him!”

“Stop it!” I shoved her gently and we laughed. Sobering, I said, “I consider it fortunate if a prospect has a kind heart. He has that.”

“Three years in America. Such a long time to wait.” Jaeyun gazed at the glimmering water. Her chin on her knees, she said, “Do you love him?”

“Love! What an idea.”

“Now it’s you who’s sounding old-fashioned!”

“It’s not that. I’m a burden to my father.” I had noticed sharpness in Jaeyun’s reply. “And you? You know something of love?”

A breeze reached up from the shore and carried her sigh. “There’s a doctor at the hospital.”

“How wonderful for you! Now it’s your turn to tell me everything.”

“It’s not wonderful, Najin. Well, I mean,
he’s
wonderful.”

“What’s he like? A doctor. Why isn’t it wonderful? Is he already married?”

“Not that! I’m not anybody’s teahouse girl!”

“Yah, I was teasing.” I suspected something amiss and decided to wait for the entire story before I said anything else that might hurt my friend. Think of others first, echoed in my mind’s ear. “How did you meet?”

“At Tokyo University. Everyone was cruel to me there, except him. In assembly I’d catch him watching me from his side of the auditorium. Well, we didn’t actually meet. We didn’t speak the entire two years I was there, but I noticed that whenever we had rallies or assemblies, he’d sit close to the aisle separating the girls and boys, and now and then he’d smile at me.”

“How embarrassing.”

“It was, but I don’t think anyone noticed except me. The girls would’ve made my life more miserable if they suspected.”

“I’m sorry you had such a hard time.” I touched her knee.

“Well, none of that really mattered, you see, because my Tokyo degree led me to my job at Seoul Hospital, and on my very first day there, I saw him in the hallway.”

“Aigu! What coincidence!”

“He looked so excited to see me, an enormous smile, and I was so startled I don’t even remember if I said anything to acknowledge him. I just continued on my first-day tour but can’t recall anything else from that day except the light in his face.”

“Oh Jaeyun.”

“That was two years ago. He’s a doctor now. We take walks together, go to restaurants and parks, but have to be careful that no one from the hospital sees us.”

“They don’t allow it?”

“It’s not that.” She turned her head.

She was too sad to be in love, and an awful idea began to form. “What’s his name?”

“Ruichi Murayama.”

“His Korean name?”

“He isn’t—hasn’t one.”

“Oh, Jaeyun. How
could
you?”

“I didn’t mean to! I fought it, tried to avoid him. It happened. It was meant to happen.” Her eyes filled. “It’s impossible! What would my parents think? Look at how you’re reacting. He can’t help his birth. I can’t help mine.”

“Poor Romeo and Juliet. Please don’t let it get the better of you. It’s an impossibility.” Another reason to scoff at romantic love: it removed propriety and common sense. I recognized how stodgy this sounded and remembered the princess’s story about her brother, Crown Prince Uimin, and his lovely Japanese wife, Princess Bangja Masako of Nashimoto. “What will you do?”

“He wants to marry me. He says he’ll take me back to Japan and we can start fresh, as if I were Japanese. He thinks no one need ever know.”

“But your family!”

“I know.” Jaeyun covered her wet eyes. “Do you think I don’t know that? Why do you think I don’t come home? Every letter, every visit, it’s this fine doctor here, that smart doctor there, grandsons, grandsons! I can’t bear it.”

I gave my friend my handkerchief and looked to the sea. Two hours by ship lay Japan, geographic sister, racial enemy, the rigid master of an enslaved nation, exiled home of the crumbling remains of Korea’s royal family—and birthplace to one Dr. Murayama. I didn’t know what to say. Jaeyun blew her nose, and I tucked a tear-damp lock of hair around her ear. “He must be quite something,” I said. “But it doesn’t take ‘quite something’ to see your beauty and intelligence.” I tried to think of what my mother might say. Jaeyun was Buddhist, but her family did not actively practice. “If you were Christian, I’d tell you to trust God or have faith.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what will happen.”

“I’ll pray for you. I’m not much of a praying person, but for you I can easily pray.”

She smiled through her reddened eyes. “It’s a relief to be able to tell someone. One thing you can do is say nothing when he comes to see me tomorrow.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“We’ll go around the point to the farthest strip of beach. He’ll meet me there, so we won’t be seen in the hotel together. Will you be all right on your own? It’s only a day. Do you mind very much? It means everything to me.”

“I’ll pack picnic lunches for you.”

“You are a dear friend. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“There’s a small library at the hotel. I’ll find something to read. And there’s always Dongsaeng’s coat waiting for me!” I laughed, and when she hugged my arms, I squeezed back, fearful of her apparently deep involvement with Dr. Ruichi Murayama.

At the hotel when we asked for the room key, the clerk handed me a note. I thought I recognized the handwriting, although I hadn’t seen his writing in Japanese before.

“You’re blushing! Is it from that future minister-husband of yours?” Jaeyun tugged me upstairs to our room. “Come on! Quickly. Tell me what it says!”

“Seaside greetings, Miss Han,” I read, my throat dry.

“I told you so!”

Though I wanted to read it away from the embarrassingly teasing eyes of my friend, I held the folded paper open for both our eyes.

“How proper he is!” said Jaeyun.

“It seems I’ll be occupied with something other than Dongsaeng’s coat tomorrow.”

“How did he find you?”

“My father must have told him.”

“Which could only mean—”

“Don’t say it! Don’t!”

She danced around the room, singing, “You know as well as I know as well as you know …”

I sat on the floor and covered my ears, laughing, “Stop it! Stop!”

When we calmed down enough to go to dinner, I asked Jaeyun the one ridiculous thing that I couldn’t believe was stuck in my mind. “What will you wear tomorrow?”

“Your dongsaeng’s coat, of course. You better finish it tonight!”

“You’re crazy!”

In the restaurant we ordered cold noodle soup with chopped vegetables. Refreshing slivers of ice slid between the fat noodles and soothed our tongues burning with hot pepper paste. Surrounded by a few Japanese patrons at the other tables, we spoke Japanese softly.

“I’ve been planning my boyfriend’s visit for weeks, so I know what I’m wearing,” said Jaeyun. “I just don’t know which color. Wait till you see them. I bought
cheongsam
dresses, Chinese style dresses in the most lightweight silk, one dark blue and the other pale green. I think I’ll wear the green, since it looks summery. Have you ever worn one?”

“Goodness, no! I can’t think of where I’d ever wear one. So revealing!”

“Your wedding day.”

“Shh!”

“The blue would look great on you. You must borrow it for your big day tomorrow!”

“You
are
crazy! My mother would die on the spot if she knew I was even considering it. And who says it’s such a big day? I remind you that ‘Perhaps we could break bread’ is what his note said.” And I remembered word-for-word the previous sentence:
and would be most pleased if you would provide the honor of meeting me
… I’d only read such flowery language in translations of English literature and guessed that he’d read the same sorts of books. One day I would have to ask him. I smiled.