The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [111]
Inside the gate my mother greeted me hastily and said I should attend the American visitors waiting for Father, who had gone to town. “I think they want something to do with you. They actually asked if this was your house! I couldn’t really tell—their Japanese is dreadful and their Korean is worse. Aigu! Where’s Father? I’m getting them water. Too bad we have no ice. Quickly! He’s a minister!”
I dropped my bundle in my room and hurried to Father’s sitting room, brushing my clothes and straightening my shoulders. A bent pink-faced man with a clerical collar paced the room, and a fair woman dressed in a loose beige suit with narrow features and a distinctive nose sat squarely on Father’s dinner table. When I bowed, the woman stood—a full head or more taller than me—and the minister bowed awkwardly. I said in Japanese, “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. My father should return at any moment. Please have refreshment?”
“Thank you, no. The lady already, uh, get water,” said the man, bowing again.
“Please excuse me a moment.” I watched the tall woman seat herself once more on Father’s low table, whose spindly legs I feared would collapse. “I’ll bring you something more comfortable to sit on.”
“What’s that? Can you speaking slow?”
I tried again using the English word for chair.
“No, no need. We can’t stay greatly. Our child he waiting home.”
The woman said, “You speak English?” She paled even whiter and put one hand to her collar and the other to her lips.
“No, only a nittle.” I switched back to Japanese. “Excuse me. Not enough to converse.”
“Same as my Japanese good.” The man smiled and made his funny bow. I’d thought from his light-colored thinning hair that he was very old, but his few wrinkles and energetic pacing exposed his youth. His eyebrows were blond, almost unnoticeable. I’d never before seen such a pink man. “My name is Reverend Harold Bennett and this is my wife, Mrs. Edna Bennett. Are you the Miss Han, the fiancée of Calvin Cho, uh, of the younger Reverend Cho?”
Startled, I felt my cheeks warm. I had seen Calvin just three days ago. “Yes, but how—?”
“We know Dr. Sherwood yesterday in Pyeongyang, er, Reverend Sherwood. He give us your joyful marry news. My goodness! Blessings, my dear!” he exclaimed in English. “We stay house of Sherwood two weeks to get, um, used to living.” Through an amusing mix of Japanese, Korean, English and hand signs, I learned that they had recently come from America to pastor a new Presbyterian church in Gaeseong. Calvin must have rushed home and told his mentor everything, who in turn told the Bennetts. In the sedan that belonged to the Pyeongyang Presbyterian Mission, borrowed for some extenuating circumstance I couldn’t grasp, they’d driven down this morning, and after stopping at the manse, had spent an hour trying to locate our house. They had a small son waiting at home with a nanny and were eager to leave. Mother brought water, apologizing for the lack of ice, and a bowl of plums from our tree, which I knew would be as hard as wood.
Everyone bowed again. Reverend Bennett asked in his funny language if this was my mother, and I understood that he originally thought she was a servant. For the first time in my life I faced the impossible situation of introducing my mother. Clearly these foreigners, esteemed as they were, knew little of our customs. In addition, I acutely felt the impropriety of receiving guests, not only in lieu of Father but in his very sitting room! Fortunately, Mother bowed and said, “Yes, Reverend, this person is Najin’s mother,” easing the discomfort.
“I’ll get something for Mrs. Bennett to sit on,” I said to Mother in Korean.
“No! You stay!” Mother almost ran off.
“Miss Han,” said Mrs. Bennett, coming forward to take my hand. “Reverend Sherwood talk you teach