The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [97]
“How much do they bring in?” I calculated how the silkworm farm could double or triple with my help. Through my own industry, I could justify my stay at home by paying Dongsaeng’s tuition. “How much are his fees?”
“Not your concern.”
“He’s my dongsaeng. I should contribute.”
“Your contribution is to seriously consider the prospect of marriage.”
In my attempt to avoid thinking about exactly that, I’d forgotten that my return home meant another mouth to feed, another room to heat. “Yes, Umma-nim, I will.”
“Wonderful! Mr. Cho is coming tomorrow to visit you alone.”
“Tomorrow!” Water splashed from the basin onto both our skirts.
Mother ignored the stain. “Walk the gardens with him. Take lunch. Take time to think and decide.”
“What’s the hurry?”
“By autumn he’ll be in America to study for a year or more. A betrothal could change everything for you.”
I frowned. Less than a month ago, I’d been fired from my country school and had no idea what the future might hold. I had hoped to work at the Seoul Hospital with Jaeyun, but Father forbade it. Teaching was one thing for a woman of our class; nursing—a servile position—was something else altogether. I hid a sigh. Marriage was not among the goals I had cast for my future. Then again, it seemed possible to add an American medical education to my dreams. I smiled at Mother, and when she smiled back, obviously pleased, I guiltily turned to wash the vegetables. I tried to subdue this extremely selfish desire from my mind, but as I scrubbed the cucumbers in the cool water, I couldn’t avoid wondering if American cucumbers were as sweet and succulent as ours.
ON THE MORNING of Calvin Cho’s visit, I sat before a folding vanity case, its mirror upright, trying to measure my appearance as he might. Wild hair, untamable. I hastily knotted it in a braid. No, men don’t notice hair. Yah, but no one could miss this nose! I powdered it, applied lipstick, rubbed it off. Skin is clear, thank God, I thought, too tanned, droopy eyelids, a peasant’s jaw—aigu! I stood and angled the mirror for full body viewing. Straight back, sunken belly, stooped shoulders. Skinny like a farmer … I kicked the vanity case and it clattered shut.
Mother entered carrying a light breakfast of steamed barley and broth with tender wild leeks and tofu. “You give your father reason to be annoyed when you behave like that,” she said calmly. “Your visitor is the kind of man, I think, who cares little about appearances, and even if he were to, there’s nothing for you to be concerned about.”
I remembered his fancy tie and socks and said nothing. Mother sat behind me and undid my lumpy braid, which made me feel increasingly childish. “Why can’t I just get a job? Why can’t I go to Seoul to work at the hospital?”
“Stop.” Mother raked a comb dipped in hot water through my hair. My head bobbed with each firm yank as she folded plaits, and I felt even more petulant and childish. I handed her a green ribbon. “Forgive me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I know we’ve discussed this.” I took deep breaths and closed my eyes.
“Tell me truly what you think of Mr. Cho,” said Mother. She swept the floor for fallen hairs with her hands.
I returned the comb to my abused vanity case and stood. Mother adjusted my slip and drew the skirt’s straps over my arms. “He is very polite,” I said. “He’s intelligent and well spoken, serious and studious. I believe he’ll make a good pastor.” I paused a moment before confessing, “But I don’t know if I could ever be a good pastor’s wife.”
“Nonsense. Think of what a privilege it would be.” Mother fluffed my hem, and I suppressed further expressing my doubt. She tightened the skirt band around my bosom and tucked in the ends. “What else?”
“He’s thoughtful and modern, and that’s good for me.” Thinking that to give voice to my new desire might reduce its intensity and conspiratorial nature,