The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [44]
As I walked home, the lengthening shadows seemed darker, their origins unknown. I wondered if it was cheating to make the same promise to God for Yee Sunsaeng-nim as I had for my father. Although Mother would say it wasn’t Christian to honor esteemed elders with prayer in the Confucian manner, I decided I’d also say a prayer on my teacher’s behalf to Shakespeare. It was all I had to offer.
The smoke of burned trash clung to the alleyways. I dragged my feet, the stones in my path no longer begging to be kicked, fallen brown leaves fluttering aimlessly about my ankles. I didn’t notice the vendors packing their goods and rolling up mats, nor did I smell the enticing steam of jajang sauce from the noodle man. But the sideways glance from a policeman patrolling with his partner quickened my step, and then I ran until my family’s gate came into view.
I heard a commotion behind the neighbors’ wall. Perhaps the Changs had returned! Was Hansu released? Maybe that meant Teacher Yee’s father would also be home soon. I remembered my prayers and straightened my shoulders, primly hurrying home. Byungjo opened the gate holding a hand hoe and wearing his beaten straw hat. The gardener was a mere head taller than me and looked much older than his thirty-six years. His wrinkled skin, darkly tanned from spending most of his working hours outdoors, hung from his narrow bones like forgotten rags. I asked if he’d seen the neighbors.
He shrugged. “I see nothing, but your mother had me open their shutters and untangle their courtyard this morning.” He walked away, muttering about stubborn overgrowth and the disgraceful state of the Changs’ garden.
I kicked off my shoes at the front door. “Umma-nim!” My feet slid on the shiny wood.
In my mother’s room, Kira was washing the floor. “Not here. The neighbors are back, and your mother went to bring them food.”
“Is Hansu home too?”
“I don’t know. She said you could go over there after you wash your face and hands.” Kira wrung her floor rag and brushed sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist. She smiled at me, her gold-lined tooth glinting. “You look clean to me, but she’ll want you to do as she says.”
I splashed so much water on my sleeves that I had to change my blouse before letting myself in through the gate adjoining our properties, which had been left ajar. I was glad to hear laughter. I hadn’t been to the neighbors’ for a long time, and their house looked shrunken, the gardens raw from Byungjo’s work.
“Umma-nim?” Following sounds to the kitchen’s back door, I found my mother and Hansu’s mother mixing eggs with meal, chopped scallions and squash for pancakes. Dongsaeng sat on the porch just outside the opposite doorway, playing with gourds. From the steaming pot on the stove I smelled bone marrow soup. The Changs’ kitchen was half as small as ours with only one stove and no hearth. Most of its few shelves were dusty and bare.
“Yah, here’s the thoughtful neighbor girl!” Hansu’s mother wiped her palms on her apron and grasped my hands. A tiny woman with gray streaks in her hair, she had the same straight brows and scoop-shaped eyes as her son. “I told your mother about the mysterious gift we received before we left for Seoul, and just as we guessed, she said the comb was yours. You’ve made your mother proud.”
I blushed as she patted my shoulder. Mother smiled, saying, “You’ll spoil her.” Dongsaeng flapped his arms, and I lifted him and kissed his pudgy hands.
“How is Hansu’s father?” I asked politely.
“He’s very well; sitting