The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [87]
Your father is proud of Dongsaeng’s good grades, and I of your consideration of him. I worry about your Christian spirit and think maybe you need a husband and children in your life. Do not be like those modern girls who refuse to marry.
Mother
Sunday, February 25, 1934
Daughter,
I fear this letter may not reach you before you depart Yoju, so I will write briefly. Once we learned your post had ended, coincidentally, we heard about a certain bachelor from Pyeongyang. Chang Hansu has returned to Gaeseong under what I can guess is the same situation as yours, since he is looking for work. You will catch up on all that when you come home. More important, he brings news of a good prospect. The gentleman is the second son of a famous minister, someone Hansu met years ago in Seoul—of course you remember that time when he went to the capital. At first, Father was none too keen on this gentleman since his family is common. However, he is the grandson of a district governor, and his father, the first Christian in his province, is the first Presbyterian Korean minister in Pyeongyang. I believe his moral worth can counterbalance his lack of class distinction. I will try to learn more by the time you arrive.
Do not be alarmed to find your father greatly reduced in health and in his attention to these matters. His main concern is rightly toward Dongsaeng’s education and training, and he has little patience for much else. This can be advantageous to you, since he will not be as concerned about the quality of your husband’s name as he might have been ten years ago. You say you refuse to marry, but that is nonsense. You are already old now! Besides, your father’s health would greatly improve were his daughter’s welfare settled once and for all. Think about that and travel quickly to us. I pray for an uneventful and safe journey home.
Mother
A Measure of Faith
SPRING 1934
I CAME HOME FROM THE TRAIN STATION SO LATE IN THE EVENING THAT I could barely see the outlines of our gate. Tired from traveling, I quickly unpacked, breathing in the welcoming scents of home: the dusty wood in my room and Mother’s sweetness on my cheek after an uncharacteristic hug. She had waited to have supper with me and was in the kitchen getting it ready. I went down the dim corridor on the women’s side of the house, the smells of garlic, hot pepper and cooking oil growing stronger with each step. Dongsaeng’s rooms were dark—he was away at boarding school across the valley—but a glow in Father’s studio showed him still awake. A half moon cleared the trees and spread thin light in the yard. I stepped onto the veranda and smiled to see the gentle hollows worn into the courtyard slate where I had often swept and played. Father’s silhouette behind his screen door shifted in the lamplight, and I heard him call for Joong, who would ready his bedding. I would attend to Father in the morning when Chang Hansu came to visit. I considered this impending visit with unease, suspecting Father’s willingness to have me home would culminate in my being married off as soon as possible. The pleasurable comfort of being home was mixed with childish feelings of caution and rebellion, and I was surprised and disturbed by this reversion.
In the kitchen, Cook stirred a boiling pot with long chopsticks at the stove, her back now slightly hunched at the shoulders. “I told Mother not to disturb you,” I said, clasping Cook’s hands, warm with steam. Although her eyes were as fiery as always, she looked tiny, her wrinkles deeper.
“What could I do?” said Mother, slicing gimchi at the table. “As soon as she heard you had crossed the threshold, she was stoking the fire.”
“Aigu! How did you grow so tall? And didn’t anyone feed you?” Cook fished buckwheat noodles from the pot into a bamboo strainer. “Sadly, here we have only poor man’s food.