The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [147]
One evening toward that winter’s end, he glimpsed a stunning moonrise from his window. So broad and brilliantly pearled was the orb that he left the warmth of his sitting room to regard it from the porch. Its brilliance drew him out to the courtyard in his stocking feet, the iciness of the clear night cutting sharply through his clothes. The moon cleared the treetops and seemed to fill half the sky, and he wondered that in all its enormous beauty it gave no warmth. He tried to capture its portent and breathed in deeply. Tiny icicles of frost broke in his nostrils as he gazed at the enigmatic features of the luminous sphere, seeking to comprehend its message.
“Yuhbo!” called his wife.
He came in sheepishly. She stirred his brazier, and he was grateful that she didn’t comment on his crazy behavior. Her preoccupied manner hinted at bad news. “Chang Hansu is here. His wife is with us in our rooms. He wants to speak to you.” He rubbed his hands over the coals and sat.
Alarmed by how aged and gaunt his neighbor looked, he called for his daughter-in-law to bring something hot to eat. Unsook assured him that soup and millet were coming for both Hansu and his wife. After eating and extending the usual courtesies, Hansu ran his hand through his unruly hair, suffused with gray, and said, “Uncle, I’ve had to sell the house. Neither my wife nor I have been working for nearly a year now. Sir, I’ve been drafted for labor in Nagasaki.”
He heard the strain in Hansu’s voice. Han sympathetically dropped his eyes. Earlier that month, Ilsun had mentioned rumors about an extensive labor conscription and local draft officials who roamed the streets with quotas to fill. Ilsun said he’d heard about truckloads of unmarried men and women scooped from rural villages, but so far the cities had seen little of this. If Hansu, who had long been married, had been drafted for labor, what would become of Ilsun? He felt guilty relief for his former ability to pay the bribes that had erased Ilsun’s name from official rosters, and guilt again for his narrow and selfish concern. He looked at Hansu, his eyes full of solicitude.
Hansu, his brow deeply lined, sighed. “My parents have decided to join me. We are all promised housing and employment at the Mitsubishi truck factory there. The wages are fair, more than anything I can earn here with my red line.” Following his trial and sentencing after March First, Hansu’s identification papers were stamped with a red linear seal, marking him a criminal against the empire and severely limiting his ability to work. He’d been fortunate to have teaching positions with the missionaries, but since the onset of the China War, the missionaries were disfavored, and old regulations and dozens of new ones were stringently enforced. Hearing about Hansu’s circumstances, Han expected that the missionaries would likely be expelled altogether.
Shoulders sloped, head bent, Hansu paused to hear his elder’s response. Witnessing the young man’s unusual passivity stirred Han to anger. “You must go underground then. Your family can move in with us. We have many empty rooms here. You can arrange everything with my son.”
“Thank you, but no. I’ve already taken too much advantage of Ilsun’s connections. It was he who found the man who guaranteed a desk job for my wife and me, since we’re both educated and fluent.”
Han’s face must have shown something of his surprise at Ilsun’s involvement, for Hansu said bleakly, “I didn’t expect you’d approve, but my wife is with child. My family will be persecuted if we were to run. Because my parents are following us voluntarily, they won’t be required to work in the factory. It’s likely some clerical work can be found for my father since he has a long record with the government.”
“No,