The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [135]
Yonghee had no problem with the bedtime routine and freely exposed her ample figure when she readied herself to lie in the blankets I’d repositioned next to Mrs. Cho. Once again, I stayed busy in the kitchen, waiting to hear rhythmic sleeping breaths before I undressed. With no more room for my bedding, I remained wrapped in my quilt and made myself as comfortable as I could on the linen closet floor, where I continued to sleep for all the miserable days I lived with my in-laws, days that slowly lapsed into months, then years.
Each time I gave my earnings to my father-in-law, he accepted them without comment and gave me a small amount back for food. At first I saved fifty jeon to visit the public bathhouse down the street, but saving became impossible when I saw that cash flowed through the house like smoke. Because of our dependency on the market for food and fuel, we were vulnerable to its rapidly rising prices and decreasingly available goods. Yonghee ate large portions and always asked for more, and I sometimes pretended I’d eaten at school so my in-laws would have a balanced meal. Within six months, I had sold all of the supplies I’d packed for American college. By the end of the first year, I had sold most of my books, more than half my clothes including the wedding dress, Western underwear and shoes, and then I sold the locker, and finally, Imo’s suitcase. Even as I handed it to the peddler, I wondered that I felt little emotion about parting with my beloved aunt’s thoughtful and cherished gift. I was tired, and empty.
My hands and feet became calloused and cracked as I washed diapers in all seasons, chopped wood, wove mats, mended the stove, walls and shutters. Without a proper entryway, mud, dirt and dust tracked through the house, and I was forever cleaning the floor.
Because I had asked Calvin and my family to write to me in care of the school, my father-in-law began to treat me with a coolness that grew into unfounded suspicions. He accused me of having an affair with the choral director and then, laughably, of trying to seduce Yonghee’s husband. I couldn’t fathom how such ideas entered his consciousness, but suspected that he had recognized my distaste for their way of living, and, perhaps, my despair, and had thus found fault with me. This sort of petty and calculated thinking exhausted me.
My cheeks sunk, my skin dulled and my lips were always held tight to hold resentment in and to mask my outright hatred of Yonghee. I enjoyed the kindergarten children and the choral rehearsals, which I defiantly continued attending, and even found time to study for my license to practice obstetrics. But when I came home, the spark faded from my eyes and my spirit darkened. Sometimes the baby cried at night and Yonghee breastfed him. I listened to the soft nestling of mother and child. My body ached for my husband then, for the future I’d counted on and lost, for Gaeseong, for anything different from this peasant life, this slavery. I wondered if the despicable living conditions and my despair would ever end, but I did not pray.
Saved Letters
AUTUMN 1934 – SUMMER 1936
September 16, 1934
Los Angeles, California
My Dear Wife,
I regret that a letter cannot express my emotion, my deep sorrow, after I received your telegram. For all the days of travel, I could not look forward to the journey ahead, so burdened was I with sadness. I blame myself that you suffered alone at the passport office. While it is a relief to know you are safe and in the welcoming arms of my parents, that