The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [105]
“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.
“What?” said Jaeyun, slanting her eyes at me.
“I just realized that I was thinking of a future with Mr. Cho.”
“First thing you’ll have to do is stop calling him ‘Mr. Cho.’”
“Reverend Cho is better? Cho Moksa?”
“Cho Moksa-nim! His Honorable Reverend Cho!” she said with wicked irreverence.
“And you,” I said. “His Honorable Doctor Murayama!” We fell into teasing whispered silliness until even the slurp of her or my noodles, or the curious glances of the other guests, set us to giggling like children.
Later that night in bed, I stared at the ceiling and listened to Jaeyun breathe steadily with sleep. The freedom of the day with my friend unlocked my mind to introspection. Was this what I wanted or was it my duty? I wondered what his home life was like, for it might become my home life, and remembered Hansu’s description of whirring sewing machines and two floors of rooms crowded with patriots. I recalled Mr. Cho’s stories and his odd helpfulness in cleaning up our picnic. Although he’d described his mother as kindly and capable, I wondered what kind of mother would raise her boys to do women’s work. It sounded chaotic compared to the orderliness of my father’s house. Could I fit in? I’d adjusted well to many different living situations already, but I’d be the only daughter-in-law at the Cho home and far from my mother. But what was I thinking? Anything could happen in three years!
Still, he had proven his decency to my parents, and I appreciated his modern consideration of my ideas. His intelligence and knowledge were certainly appealing, but what could he possibly see in me? With my dowry, he obviously wasn’t an opportunist. He seemed genuine in all things—if a little pedantic in his intellectualism. Would I be doing a disservice to God if I married a man of God? What about sex? This thought rushed through my body as if I were swimming in the sea, its salty waters wholly, coolly enveloping my limbs. I opened my eyes wide and tried to banish all thoughts of marriage from my mind by tracing Chinese characters amid the shadows and light, but I stopped when they formed the letters of his name. I chastised myself for foolishness and bluntly decided