The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [102]
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.
By the Beach
MAY 1934
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