The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [118]
Mother and I shared the enormous breakfast, and when I returned the dishes to the kitchen I started to thank Cook for all her artistry. She kept her back to me and I knew she was crying. I stacked the bowls and said quietly, “Every time I touch food I will think of you. You have given me so much more than training in the kitchen.” She turned and we held each other’s hands. We did not speak of such things in a Confucian household, but this moment was thick with love. To ease the pain of our parting, Cook and I did what we did best together, and prepared packets of food for the long day ahead.
My mother and Dongsaeng would accompany me. Father’s history with the Thought Police required a special permit to cross the border, and loath to call official attention to our family, he chose to stay home. I was afraid for Dongsaeng to travel with us as well, but Mother needed an escort for the return trip. Reverend Bennett was attending the Presbytery Conference and would escort us north, but he would remain in Manchuria for other business. We knew no one in Hsin-ching, the city of my marriage, so my mother and brother had nowhere to spend the night. Further, there was only one return train to Gaeseong which departed shortly after the church service. My mother and brother could not attend the reception. It was an enormous disappointment, but at least they could attend the ceremony.
Father had risen early for my departure and I greeted him in his sitting room, its tranquil lines gradually growing solid in the slow daybreak. After lighting a lamp and serving him water, I faced him and bowed low to the floor. “Honorable Father, forgive this disobedient child all the heartache she has brought to this family. This person wishes only that she might have served this family better. She is grateful beyond human measure for your guidance, patience and direction.” I bowed twice more saying, “Thank you.”
Father stroked his beard and sat in contemplation for a time. A moth flitted just beyond the lamp’s flame and cast flickering patterns on the walls. “Obey your husband in all things.” He spoke slowly, his voice as quiet as the rising dawn. “Be dutiful and serve your new family with decorum and propriety as you’ve been taught. I’m pleased with this union, and trust that you will honor your ancestors with diligence, honest work and many sons, no matter where you land. Go with God.” The depth of feeling behind his words moved me to tears, and I bowed my head to hide them, and having so rarely seen such emotion from him, to hold on to the moment for as long as was polite.
Going to the station, Mother and I walked side by side, following Dongsaeng. Behind us Byungjo pulled a cart with my luggage: a footlocker from the Bennetts and Imo’s well-worn suitcase. Our steps fell soundlessly in the soft humid morning, while the cart creaked noisily.
“You have all your papers?”
“Yes, Umma-nim.” This simple utterance filled me with pain and I stopped talking to contain my feelings. I had earned enough from the Bennetts for train and steamer travel and a gift sum, a dowry of sorts, for my in-laws. The Bennetts were my gracious sponsors for a full scholarship at Goucher College in Baltimore, where I was expected for delayed fall enrollment in a premedical course of study.
All our original wedding and travel plans had been disrupted when we learned I was ineligible for international travel as an unmarried woman. I was required, after marriage, to apply for a passport in my husband’s city of residence, Pyeongyang. In addition, the policeman