The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [30]
“No, his hat protected him somewhat. He was brave and foolish, but now I’m afraid they—” Mother hugged the baby and hid her eyes, but I saw tear tracks and was struck with new fear that he would be arrested again.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “He’s home. He’ll be fine. The surgeon cleaned his wound with iodine and sewed it together as easily as a torn sleeve. The bleeding’s stopped and he says there’s little pain. He’ll have to sleep sitting up for a few days. I must remember to ask Joong to bring more pillows.” She closed her blouse and held the baby out by his armpits. “Here, learn how to burp your brother. Hold him close, that’s right. Support his head and rub his back.”
I brushed my nose against my brother’s feathery hair, inhaled his delicious scent and rubbed a little circle on the small of his back as my mother instructed. He released a loud gassy burst and we laughed.
“A good one! Watch me change his diaper, then you’ll know everything about taking care of your brother.”
“Except I haven’t any milk.” I cupped the baby’s head as I returned him.
She demonstrated her diapering method, her hands skillful, automatic. “It’s simple to learn how to clean and dress a baby. Even to have a baby is a simple earthly thing. Understanding the physical world is nothing. Your father said the man he tried to help was stabbed in the shoulder through to his back. His ribs were caved in on one side as if he’d been kicked or trampled. Two other men helped your father carry the wounded man into a courtyard. They dropped him once because soldiers were beating everyone in sight. He saw a woman being hit with the butt of a rifle. Her skull was crushed, but the soldier didn’t stop. Aigu! What of her family? What will become of her children?” Mother kissed the baby’s forehead, murmuring a prayer for the woman, the dead and wounded. I remembered the smell of my father’s shirt, and the heavy perfume of lilacs.
“A Chinese man came out of the house and said he’d hide him and call their doctor. Those are good Christian people, even if they’re Buddhist.” This impressed me as an odd and curious thing to say. She swaddled the baby. “Najin-ah, alongside such goodness are those who know only evil. It’s something you’ll need to understand sooner than I’d hoped. I’m sure you’ll want to know how such evil can exist, as do I.” She spoke tightly with an anger I’d rarely seen. I crushed a diaper, both wanting and not wanting to hear more. Mostly, though, I badly wanted everything to be like before. “We can’t know God’s will,” she said, “it’s not for us to ask. But how can it not be when it’s we who suffer?”
“Is it the Devil? Are the ancestors angry?”
Her eyes refocused toward me and her voice quieted. “Yes, certainly the work of Satan in all his evilness, but we can fully trust that Jesus will keep you and your brother safe. You needn’t worry. You need only pray with all your heart and behave well. Be respectful and thoughtful of others, especially those less fortunate than us. Take care of your brother and father. Pray for our leaders. Pray for Korea.”
“Yes, Umma-nim.”
“You must give thanks that Father made it home. The Chinese man also wanted to hide your father, but that wouldn’t be right. Your father stayed off the main road and saw nothing else. He said the streets were full of wailing.”
Mother cuddled the baby and spontaneously returned his smile. “But here’s a happy little boy. Your father can’t wait to see you.”
“Umma-nim, may I see him too?”
“A little later.”
“I picked gosari. He might like that tonight.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him you picked it just for him. Now see to your studies. I’ll bring your father his food, then you and I can have a late supper.”
I bowed and reluctantly left. Instead of studying in my lonely room, I took my writing pad to the kitchen, pretending to do homework while I watched to ensure