The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [82]
“Well he’s not here, so I don’t care. But you’re so stingy it’s as if he were right here! I thought you were supposed to help me.”
I counted twenty terse crunching steps before speaking. I no longer felt the cold. Imo’s house was not far ahead. “I’ll help you, but you must tell me honestly why you need the money. There shouldn’t be secrets between us. It’s just the two of us here, and I’m your nuna.”
“If I tell you, will you give it to me?”
“How much?”
“Ten won.”
“That’s as much as two weeks’ pay! What have you done?”
“I didn’t do anything! I just went along when they—”
How distasteful his whining sounded. What had happened to my sweet baby brother? I thought back and wondered if he’d always been this self-centered and inconsiderate. He typically talked back, but I had likened that to my own streak of childhood stubborn independence and thought he’d grow out of it as I had. With Imo’s gate in sight, I stopped to look fully at my brother. He stared at his feet and kicked icy mud clods. I saw with surprise that he was now slightly taller than me. Under his cap his shorn head made his face seem rounder and whiter than usual. Pink dots of cold, or agitation, colored the flat of his cheeks. “Look at me,” I said. I recognized in him the familiar fullness of my mother’s lips, his chin dimpled with pouting. “Where did you go?”
The pout flattened to a smirk. “They took me to a teahouse.”
“You’re just a boy! How could they do such a mean thing?”
“It wasn’t mean at all. I liked it! People were really nice to me. That’s why—I borrowed from— She wanted me to buy— I went back— I mean, that’s why I need the money.”
Scarlet spread down my neck. I pulled him into an enclave beside a lone oak tree out of sight of Imo’s gate. “You borrowed money to visit teahouse girls? And you sold your coat, didn’t you?”
“Don’t tell, okay?”
“At least you know it’s wrong!”
“It’s not wrong. It’s fun! There’s nothing else to do, and they’re nice to me!”
“For money! They’re only nice to you because they want your money. How can you be so stupid!”
“I’m not stupid!” His eyes met mine. In the graying evening, I could only see their blackness. “I’m lonely and bored.”
Remorse overcame me as quickly as the anger had risen, and I took his hand. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I should be a better nuna to you. I get caught up with studying and forget about friends and having fun. We could do things together on Sundays. When it’s warmer we can tour the old temples.”
“Can you give me the ten?”
“We’ll see. Next Sunday let’s go to the big Methodist church around the corner from you. You must promise me you won’t go to those places again. Think of how angry Father would be if he knew.”
“There’s plenty of church at school already.” He gave me a boyish smile. “Let’s do something fun instead. There’s a cinema. Have you seen any films?”
“After church, we can do something. Not too expensive, though. Agreed?”
He nodded.
“No more teahouses?”
He turned toward Imo’s and mumbled something. A breeze rattled the dead leaves clinging to the oak, and he said, “I promise. Thanks, Nuna.” Or at least that’s what I thought he said.
A Good Christian with Modern Thinking
WINTER 1930 – WINTER 1934
Sunday, December 28, 1930
Daughter,
When I think of how hard you have worked to achieve your dream, how diligently you pursued your education, my eyes overflow with joy, my heart cries with pride. To think that my only daughter has a degree in childhood education and nursing from the first women’s college in Korea! You are among the pioneers for women in this new age, blessed with opportunities you have managed to take advantage of, even when faced with many obstacles. To also learn that you were among the top ten in your class has given me new reason to say that my cup runneth over. I am proud of you beyond measure.
As for the coming year, I think it is fine for you to stay in Seoul. Be grateful that your