The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [125]
“Najin,” he said. I felt a pulse on my thigh, then wetness. I loosened my body and he breathed against my neck, his lips soft. He turned on his side with a contented sigh that pleased me. He touched my face, then threw his arm across my chest and fell asleep. Worried about the mess below, I gently raised my hips and tucked my nightgown beneath. When he breathed deeply with sleep, I crept out of bed, donned a slip and tiptoed across the hall. I washed the nightgown and myself, then by the pale streetlight filtering through the curtain in our room, spread a hotel towel over the wet bedsheet. Lying wide-awake, I smiled at his throaty snores. My thigh tingled as if remembering him there, and I was grateful he hadn’t released himself inside me—pregnancy would be impossible for a college student!—although I wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not. The ceiling fixture seemed to form the characters for woman. I closed my eyes to unweave the feelings trapped in my body. A small ache below caused me to clench my pelvic muscles, and the wave of deepness recalled my solitary nights in Changdeok Palace down the hall from the princess. Now a married woman, I gave myself permission to continue until my hips tensed, then lightened, and a small sound sprang from deep in my body. After checking that Calvin’s breathing remained unchanged, I lay flat and straight on the too-soft mattress, and slept.
I woke in complete darkness as Calvin pressed against me. His legs guided mine apart and he hovered above. His lips brushed my lips and his rough chin scratched my ear and neck. I hoisted my pelvis to straighten the towel, and he grasped my hips. I willed my body to comply with his and hid involuntary cries in his shoulder. He moved faster, and as I felt his tension mounting, I pushed him out with my legs. He splashed on my belly and I reached down to contain it. My fingers raked across his sex. Frightened by his sharp intake of breath, I said, “Are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you,” he murmured and rolled to his side. I lay still, my hand cupped on my sticky belly and waited for him to fall asleep, but he tossed a while, tugging the sheets. Eventually he said sleepily, “And you, Yuhbo. Are you all right?”
Struck by his consideration, I thanked him and said that I was. I felt grateful to him for asking, and so blessed and undeserving all at once that tears filled my eyes. I waited until he slept then sneaked out of bed again, this time wearing his jacket to cross the hall. I put a luxurious two inches of warm water in the bottom of the tub, deathly afraid that the splashing faucet would wake him or another hotel guest. I’d paid scant attention to my womanly nakedness before this night—too unchaste an act—and I studied my body as if seeing it for the first time. The hot water burned between my legs and my body shuddered with the memory of him. So, this is marriage, I thought. It made me feel full and warm, and I believed this most certainly was love.
Returning to the bed, I slept fitfully, afraid I’d oversleep. When he reached for me once more, I saw the room outlined in dawn and pulled away. “Nearly time to rise. Sleep a little longer, Yuhbo.” I washed and dressed in a plain hanbok, glad I’d thought to bring the rags needed for bleeding. I woke him cheerily and he leaned against me, groggy with sleep. We laughed as he crossed the room tripping over his falling pajama trousers. That simple, spontaneous laughter, a mere few seconds, was a moment I would come to cherish.
As I stripped the bed and listened for the toilet flushing and the faucets running, I thought of Kira that day throwing salt on my father’s bloodied shirt, and sudden homesickness burned my eyes. Gathering the sheets,