The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [89]
“Lovely!”
Mother said to Cook, “Pour the tea, won’t you?” Using her body as a shield, Mother quickly switched her bowl with Cook’s, while the old woman poured roasted barley tea.
In her sitting room, Mother and I settled in behind our table trays. She chuckled. “See how I have to trick her? She’ll be mad when she sees the egg, but she can’t let it go to waste now.”
I gave Mother half the vegetables and egg in my bowl, and we ate, the thick noodles rolling deliciously on my tongue, fiery with gimchi and smoky with anchovies. She said things really weren’t that bad. They’d met Dongsaeng’s tuition for high school with cocoon income, my contributions and the amount received from Oriental Land for the forestlands. She told me that shortly after Japan annexed Manchuria, jewelry and silverware were given to Father, as well as the best of the jade, and were buried. “That was foresight on your father’s part, because a few days later a Japanese tax official visited us.” She frowned. “Well, visit isn’t exactly the correct word. He demanded entry to inventory the household.”
“He was here? Counting things? How dare they!”
“Anger is pointless, Najin-ah. Laws are made to match their desires, it seems. They’ve even started ‘clean house’ inspections, so they can come in at will.” She blew into the barley tea, showing calmness, but I heard the tremor in her voice. She continued, “This man expressed interest in purchasing some paintings, but your father wouldn’t hear of it.” Father would remain firm in the Confucian sentiment that to sell a scroll would taint it with mercenary concerns, reducing its true artistry. “The worst of it was he threatened Dongsaeng’s student status. ‘A stroke of the pen one way or the other’ were his words. It seemed for a moment that our intention to bring Dongsaeng home from Seoul specifically to protect him from conscription was in vain.”
Tiny anchovy bones scratched deep in my throat. “But students are supposed to be exempt from labor conscription!”
“Yes, and thankfully, Dongsaeng is still underage. Your father took additional steps to prevent him from being drafted. He remembered meeting this man years ago when he had to register your school enrollment, and knows how to satisfy him with occasional gifts—a jade pin or a vase particularly admired during inventory.” Mother looked rueful. “I’m sorry to tell you about this. I didn’t want you to worry. You should know that your dowry will be simple. Cook traded some raw silk for a bolt of cotton for you. Use it for your dowry, which I’m sorry to say will only be what you can sew for your future children and husband in the time that you’re home.”
The words spoken, I could do nothing but hold myself very still. I wanted to insist that marriage would be a waste of my education, that I could be more helpful to the family by working. The light wobbled and the dark blush under Mother’s eyes deepened. I noticed her lax cheeks and faint worry lines crossing her forehead. Outlined in moonlight, the room’s spare furnishings and clean simplicity reflected the rare sense of peace and wholeness I felt in her presence. At that moment, I wanted only to please her. I hid a sigh. “So then, Chang Hansu’s friend …”
Mother’s worry lines disappeared. “A son of Minister Cho from Pyeongyang. Even your father is impressed with Reverend Cho’s involvement on March First, at least enough to ignore his woeful bloodline.” She added quietly, “Perhaps your father finally realizes the old ways are ending.” This gave me pause, and I noted it to ponder later.
Mother said that the eldest Cho son was already an ordained minister, an encouraging sign that the second son—the one in question—would follow those footsteps. My stomach knotted, and not from a plentiful supper in a shrunken belly.
“And he’s pursuing advanced theological education in America. Who knows?” she said, her eyes curved with warmth. “Isn’t it natural if two people dream the same dream, their paths will flow together?”
Hearing two people and together made me speechless with dread.
“We’ll learn