The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [180]
He met and profusely thanked Neil Forbes. Calvin mentioned that he had once visited a congregation in Fort Lee called Eden Presbyterian, which turned out to be the church of Private Forbes’s youth and marriage. They spoke rapidly in English with some excitement upon this discovery. Forbes revealed that his trade prior to joining the army had been carpentry, and the two men became close friends as they drew building plans, stretched level strings between stakes, pounded nails and supervised workmen. I watched them talking and working together, awed at Calvin’s ease in English conversation, and how quickly and sincerely he bonded with the American soldier. It reminded me that I knew essential aspects of my husband’s character and could speak unhesitatingly about his true nature, yet I knew very little about him in daily life.
Calvin was careful to discuss the second house with a consideration that allowed my brother no loss of face, and so, with the exception of a few bumps inevitable on such a rapid road to change, harmony and comfortable living came to our family. In a rare moment of camaraderie with Meeja, she said with a teasing smile, “You’re a lucky woman to be lavishly courted by your own husband!” I returned her smile and hid my own thoughts about his generosity. While I was exceptionally grateful for the improvements he brought to our lives, especially the comforts for my parents, the excess of it embarrassed me, though I was also aware that his abundant giving helped to alleviate his profound remorse.
I fed the workmen, found places to store the goods that Calvin and Neil Forbes continued to bring, swept the pervasive sawdust, practiced English and kept a hot meal always ready for my husband, should he show up. My transition to being a wife was made easier by his scruple for separate living quarters. I’d be peeling turnips or washing the floor, and then I’d hear the Jeep and suddenly have a different purpose, one that aimed to serve and please my husband. It gave me a sensation I’d never known. I tried to name it—complacency, obedience? No. Contentment, wholeness, belonging—love? When I dressed in the morning, I dressed for him. I brushed my teeth and wondered if he was shaving at the barracks or showering in hot water, the idea of which, even with the difficult years behind us, seemed immensely wasteful.
He was an active if not everyday presence, and I grew conscious of the pleasure this gave me. At the same time, I held back, as if it were a simulation of happiness that couldn’t be sustained and would end as abruptly as it had before. This irrationality gave me moments of relief. If he were gone, I’d be released from having to confess my paucity of faith.
He watched me when we were together, and sometimes I was glad for his attention, but other times it made me painfully self-conscious. I was frequently unsure of what he wanted. If he stood to pour himself a cup of water, was it his way of demonstrating how I’d failed to provide for him? Was he deliberately trying to embarrass me in front of my family, or—more likely, but still very strange—was he trying to be helpful? When he insisted that I stay for the men’s talks, was it because he saw how woefully uninformed I was and wanted to educate me? Or did he want me to contribute to these conversations and further embarrass me in front of my family? Did he simply want to have me in his sight? I wished we were writing letters again, for then I could cautiously ask these things and he could explain his manner toward me. I liked it best when he gave me tasks with the new house and when he complimented my cooking, saying how much he had missed Korean food. I knew how to be that kind of wife. I also liked