The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [107]
“I took the train up for the day and will return at sundown.”
I nodded, then felt at a loss. What was he doing here? What was I doing with him?
He shifted on the bench and crossed a leg. “I visited your parents for a few days before coming this way.”
I didn’t want to think about what might have transpired those few days. Luckily the word visit reminded me of my hostess responsibilities. I told him Jaeyun was visiting another friend and we were left to ourselves. He readily agreed to hike the promontory and have a picnic in the little alcove overlooking the sea. As we headed toward the rocky path, I stayed a respectful few steps behind him, but soon he stopped, removed his jacket, came back, took the picnic bundle, including the teakettle, and gave me his hat to carry. Flustered by all these activities in public, I hardly knew what was going on until I found him walking beside me up the mountain path. I covered my mouth in worried embarrassment. “Shouldn’t we— shouldn’t I—”
“We can talk better this way.” He gestured to the few people strolling the grounds and beachfront. “Besides, most of the guests are Japanese. They won’t give us a second thought.” He had switched to Korean.
I didn’t think I’d be able to speak any language at all and wondered if my father knew just how modern he was.
My worry about his carrying the picnic weighed heavily, making the climb seem far more difficult than yesterday’s hike. He had an energetic step and a sure foot, and he paused often to comment on a rock formation or a peculiarly shaped leaf in an undergrowth plant.
“Let me take that now.” I pointed to the bundle he’d set down to look closer at a fossilized shell in a rock fragment.
“See its impression in the stone? Perhaps this clam was at the bottom of the sea at one time.” He picked up the bundle and went farther uphill. Shortly, I tried to claim it again. “I see that I’m making you uncomfortable,” he said. “Take the kettle then, and give back the hat. I’m not sure which is making you uneasy—carrying the clothes off my back or me doing, as you say, ‘women’s work.’” I knew he was teasing, but the situation was too awkward for me to smile.
“Really, I’m fine.” I clutched the kettle gratefully and he carried his hat by its brim. My fingers itched for the bundle, but I didn’t want to call further attention to the subject. At a steep part of the path, he clambered up and turned with his hand extended. I gave him the kettle and grabbed a branch to pull myself up. He walked ahead and didn’t stop or look back for some time. I flushed with confusion and shame, sure he was irritated at me because he now carried everything, and I hadn’t even acknowledged the hand he had thoughtfully offered. Was I supposed to have grasped his hand rather than the branch? How improper! But is that what he wanted, and when I refused, did it anger him? Anxiety froze my tongue and his silent back nearly drove me to tears. I saw a break in the pines ahead; the alcove was around the turn.
“Eh— Excuse me, Reverend Cho, it’s just around the corner.”
“I see it! A beautiful spot. Fantastic view!” He set everything down and spread his jacket. I neared slowly, afraid to look at him. “But I’m not ‘Reverend’ quite yet, although you honor me to say so. Please sit on my coat, won’t you?” He breathed heavily and turned to the sea, his hands on his hips.
“I couldn’t!” I nearly shouted.
His eyes grew wide and he opened his palms. “Miss Han! What is it? Have I done something to offend you?”
“No, no!” I sat heavily on the rock beside his spread jacket, twisting my worried hands. “Please forgive me. I’ve offended you!”
“But you haven’t. Not at all. I’m very sorry. What happened?”
His question unleashed a blur of tear-filled words. “I don’t understand your Western ways. I don’t know what you want!” Then I saw how ridiculous I was, and covered my face