The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [7]
Mrs. Hwang, the chatty wife of the newly appointed deacon, overheard and quickly intervened. “She’s the yangban calligrapher’s daughter. And her mother is the woman from Nah-jin.”
“Forgive me, my Korean is such still an embarrassment,” said Miss Gordon. “Did you say Najin?”
We nodded.
“Well, Najin, that’s a very pretty name,” and Miss Gordon rose and patted the top of my head. So it was thus, with the missionary’s dry baptism and Mrs. Hwang’s glibness, that my mother’s wintry hometown became my name.
As time passed, I clearly understood that Father’s decisions could never be questioned, especially about a subject that only I seemed to care about. Like so many unspoken questions which, unanswered, eventually submerge into the deepest recesses of memory, the state of not knowing became normal, like a forgotten scar, and over time my curiosity about having no formally given name seemed to die; or at least I forgot the intensity of wanting to know. Like the locust that sleeps for seventeen years then bores out of the earth whirring, leaving behind an empty hole, I would wonder on certain occasions in the years to come why he hadn’t named me something other than Najin, which had no meaning. I came to believe the reason was somehow related to that terrifying day, the thick smell of lilacs, those new words that had introduced me to apprehension.
A Child’s Shepherd
SPRING 1917 – AUTUMN 1918
AFTER WORSHIP SERVICE, HAEJUNG, THE SCHOLAR HAN’S WIFE, SAT contentedly in a front pew on the women’s side, waiting while her husband greeted his contemporaries and caught up on news. Midday light filled the apse and illuminated her fine, radiant skin as if giving truth to her name, which meant “noble grace.” A center part in her shining hair began at a peak that defined the heart shape of her cheeks and chin, and ended in a neat bun secured with a simple jade pin. Her nose might have been considered too distinct for classic beauty, but her features were pleasingly balanced. Her greatest physical virtue lay in her bearing. Though small-boned and short, her posture gave her length, and she held her head neither too high nor too low, executing every movement with a subtlety that conveyed elegance and strength. She bowed her head for prayer but was interrupted by Deacon Hwang’s wife sliding into the pew, eyes gleaming and hands aflutter with news of the new public school, two li south of the church. “Even though all the teachers are Japanese,” said the chubby-faced Mrs. Hwang, “we’ll send our second son there.”
Haejung’s hidden annoyance with Mrs. Hwang’s bustling presence subsided. “Really? Do they only teach Japanese subjects?”
“They say they’ll teach them Hangeul, Korean, even if they cover Japanese grammar first. We think any learning is better than none. Our oldest was lucky to have some classical education before—well, you know.”
Haejung nodded. She wouldn’t have to say much; the deacon’s wife enjoyed talking more than listening.
“My husband tried to teach our boy, but he can’t help being too soft on his son! And now he’s already twelve and although he’s quite smart, he likes to get in trouble and bother his father so much that my husband complains to me to control him somehow, always laughing inside, though, I can tell. I worry about those teachers, they can be very strict, and why must they wear swords? He’s such a happy and free spirit! My husband says our son needs to be disciplined before he’s completely lost. He’s joking of course. He’ll see how it is with Number Two before we think about sending Number One to high school. Yes indeed! They say they’ll have a new upper school in a year or so, and if he does well enough maybe he’ll follow his father’s footsteps for college in Pyeongyang. And, well, don’t worry—you’ll have a chance for your daughter too! I hear they’ll open a girls’ school very soon, perhaps even next month.”
“A girls’ school—”
“—isn’t far behind! There’s some change in the government, I don’t know. That kind of talk is— You know what I mean. And think when the time comes how you and I can compare