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By Root 1160 0

seemed unreasonably uncomfortable about mentioning the mail, and it made me realize that while she knew my husband was in America, we had never once talked about it. In fact, my husband had been rarely mentioned since my arrival home from Pyeongyang, except in the very beginning when I received Calvin’s last letter, now two years ago. Since then, I’d written to his parents to be courteous and dutiful, and also to check if they’d heard from him. I received one short note from his mother, transcribed by that witch Yonghee, saying there was no news from America. I wrote without reply for more than a year, but their uncommunicativeness allowed me to eventually stop writing to them without feeling too guilty. I rationalized that paper was expensive, the mail too erratic and my mother-in-law’s illiteracy too much an obstacle for staying in touch. And I still fumed over Reverend Cho’s accusations that I had anything less than proper relations with Yonghee’s husband and the choral director.

The years in their hovel left only loathing, bitterness and shame, and it made my feelings for my absent husband all the more complex. Having lived with his family far longer than the total time I’d spent with Calvin, I wondered how well I knew my husband. And now with wartime and half a world between us, I couldn’t even guess how America might have changed him, or how I might appear changed in his eyes. I could barely remember his presence at all, except on rare occasions before I fell asleep, when a glimpse from memory—the moment of recognition we shared that day by the pond, his look when my wedding veil was lifted, or his light touch on my hand unlatching his suitcase—would surprise me with the passion it roused. It was easier to put it all aside and ignore the label of abandoned wife. Obviously something was wrong with international mail delivery. Despite the brevity of our union, I firmly believed I would know somehow if Calvin were dead.

To ease Unsook’s discomfort over the idea that she had caused me pain by mentioning the mail, I said, “I suppose he’s forgotten me and married one of the three hundred parishioners at his brother’s church.”

Pause. “You’re joking.”

“Yes.” Her face showed such relief that I felt bad for teasing her. “I’m sorry. It’s been four years since he went to America and we’ve completely lost touch. I haven’t even heard from his family. I try not to think about it. I wait, that’s all. And pray. What else can I do?” Not writing to Calvin or thinking about him also allowed me to avoid dealing with unrequited love and romance and other such foolishness. Additionally, it allowed me to assume that time would prove my Christian faith. In the meantime, it seemed simpler to remain where I was, not asking, not being asked.

“I’m sorry,” said Unsook.

“No, I’m sorry.”

“I— I wish— Excuse me, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be, really. I’m happy to be home, especially now. You’re the sister I’ve always prayed for.” Surprised by the surge of feeling over this little truth, I clasped her offered hand.

“Amen,” said Mother.

Later that day, after cleaning out the silkworm shed and readying it for another cycle before winter, I helped Cook fix lunch, wondering how Unsook fared at the orphanage. She would probably be more tired than if she’d spent all day at home doing chores. I gave the trays to Cook to deliver to Father and Dongsaeng, and turned to portion everyone else’s.

Someone banged loudly on the gate and a man shouted in Japanese. Startled, I thought, Not again! then, angry, Father’s done nothing! and I turned quickly, upsetting the kitchen table. Chopsticks and bowls clattered to the floor, spilling hot liquid. The knocks grew louder until Byungjo lifted the latch. I ran down the hall to Mother’s sitting room. Heavy measured footsteps crossed the yard, then came crisp commands: “Out! Come out! Everybody out of the house—now!”

My mother stood and her hands fluttered to her pale lips. An old fear surfaced, but with it a righteous defiance. People were always being arrested, but neither my father nor brother had been involved